


Playoff

by syredronning



Series: Draws [15]
Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Body Modification, Consensual Kink, Conspiracy, Gay Bar, Multi, Painplay, Polyamory, Rope Bondage, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris returns, and while not everything works out overnight, putting his renewed energy into solving the puzzle and reconnecting with his partners finally brings the results he'd hoped for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playoff

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the wonderful beta go to shagungu, my eternal savior of fucked-up timelines and grammar glitches. All remaining flaws are solely mine.
> 
> A tip - the last third of this story is shockingly full of sex, at times very kinky -- if you stumble over a squick, hit the page-down button a few times, chances are you'll find something more to your taste :)

The air over the city, outside of the climate control shield of the Vulcan embassy, is unusually wet, the sky full of low-hanging clouds. But the sun is rising on the horizon, its golden rays bursting through the grey and turning the whole atmosphere somewhat otherworldly as Christopher Pike steps onto the sidewalk.

The dreamy feeling tears apart as the door of a nearby car snaps open, and John waves at him with a cup of coffee. 

"Five in the morning! What an ungodly time to release anyone," John mutters. 

After throwing his small bag onto the back seat, Chris slips in and takes the cup out of his friend's hand. "Couldn't help it, T'Sol just didn't want to let me go in the evening."

"Illogical Vulcans," John says, swallowing down a big yawn before starting the engine. 

"So — how are things?" Chris asks after three gulps of the surprisingly hot beverage. John doesn't answer right away, taking a few steep curves on the path he's chosen. Chris looks out of the window, watching the sleepy grey-blue cheerfully lighten up. He gets that starting over in the morning is the best way, but despite his best intentions — and the shitload of therapy he's been given — there's a tension deep in his chest. 

Last time he'd been in self-chosen isolation, it was ultimately due to his need to remove himself from the world outside, and he couldn't have had cared less about everyone else. This time, he'd gone into isolation because he knew he had to do this on his own — if he didn't manage to fix himself up _or_ find the person who could, being with the others would never work out. But that hadn't spared him from wondering what the other three would do while he's out… if and how they'd be waiting for him. 

"Well," John says. "First of all, they're all fine."

Chris sips at his coffee with a frown.

"They're on the _Enterprise_ , overseeing the last integrations tests of the new weapons and defense systems. Actually, they would've been back by now, but there's been a change of plans."

Needing his focus for another few curves, John stops speaking.

"Damn, John, don't make it any more mysterious." Chris sighs. For a second, the tension feels painful — then he observes the emotion, tuning it down.

 _You've got the choice._  
  
"They got a flight order already?" he guesses. "And where's Dael?" 

They turn into a wider street, and John relaxes. "Yes to the flight order. Dael was up with them, but she'll be back ASAP. Her tentative schedule hasn't been confirmed yet."

"Okay," Chris says, refraining from further questions as he notices they’re stopping in front of John's apartment house. "We're going to your place?"

"No chance in hell that I'm going to let you be alone right now," John states and switches off the engine. "Not on my watch, remember?" 

"You can't protect me forever," Chris says, both touched and a little amused. 

"No, that job will go to your tribe."

Shaking his head, Chris says, "You know, my whole therapy was about making sure I could live on my own again."

"And, did it work?" John asks, looking straight at him. 

"We'll find out," Chris says. 

***

John's console isn't connected directly to Starfleet's high security net, but close enough to allow for secure calls. Having watched the brief message Jim and the doc had recorded for him, in which the frustration about the new orders from HQ had been plain in the clipped words and the heart-felt "love you, take care", he sends a few text messages before making an important call of his own, to the private comm station of Commander Illyon.

He's not surprised when it hits her answering service — and maybe a little relieved, as he's not sure yet how he'll react when they meet again.

"Mori — Christopher Pike here. I don't know how informed you are about my current whereabouts, but I'm fresh out of another round of therapy and this time I think I might want to take you up on your offer. I've sent a list of my proposed activities and time frame to your desk, please get back to me if you're still interested." 

He pauses. No matter whether or not her specific offer is still open — if he wants to return, nobody but the medical examiners are able to stop him, and they both know that.

"And another, private reason why I called you — I need my men back for a few days. Not necessarily right away, but your department's rescheduling just ruined my partnership ceremony plans. Just a few days, Mori. Shorten the test run, call them home for another special training… I trust you'll find a good reason, just do me this one favor. Please." 

He isn't sure how the current balance sheet between Mori and himself looks, so he's potentially trading in an expensive, future favor of his own for this, but it would be worth it to have Jim and the doc here. The idea that they might be gone again for months without saying goodbye to each other is so terrible that he can't and won't accept it. 

"I'm looking forward to hearing from you. Best — Chris."

When he signs off, Eric saunters into the room dressed in just a pair of very tight shorts, two cups of fresh coffee in his hand. 

"Good morning, Chris," the young man says cheerfully and offers him one cup. 

"Hey," Chris says. He gets up and leans over, capturing the lips of John's — and occasionally, his — lover. Eric feels good to his touch. "What a nice surprise." 

"Same here. Haven't seen you in weeks, and the news I got from John wasn't exactly encouraging,most of the time." Eric eyes him.

"I'm definitely better off now."

"That's great." Eric slips one arm around his hip. "We've got breakfast ready. This way, please." 

The hand on his ass isn't really necessary to show him the way, but Chris doesn't mind at all.

***

"You're a crazy bastard," John says when they're halfway through their frantic city tour. "How about starting off _slow_?"

Next to John, Chris puts a "done" tick next to the haircut, ordering a new admiral's uniform to be delivered tomorrow (hopefully not a jinx for his upcoming medical), and shopping for new pants and shirts that fit — all the things he hadn't managed before his last treatment. 

(When has his life begun to sort itself into _before_ and _after_ moments?)

"I don't have time for slow. Mori sent a note, promising me that they'll make the Enterprise dock on Jupiter in three weeks for a checkup of the new systems. So that's my timeframe."

"But that doesn't mean you have to solve the whole puzzle by then."

"If there's any relation between the new weapon systems and the attacks against me, it's better to find out now, with the _Enterprise_ still within range. I already spoke to a friend in the administrative department. If I pass my health check, I can be back at the Admiralty a day later, official desk and all, even if they don't have a goddamn clue what they should do with me right now. We agreed that it's easier for me than for any outsider to do a little research deep inside the Admiralty." 

"Yes, it would make the research easier, but —" 

"Good." Ignoring John's exasperated sigh, Chris gives SFM a call. "Managed to get an appointment for a full medical right away," he says a minute later. "You don't have to wait for me — just drop me there and I'll take a cab afterwards." 

"No chance," John says. "I'm going to do some shopping of my own, and you'll give me a call when you're ready."

"I thought about going home to my own apartment tonight," Chris says, but instantly knows that his overly eager watchdog won't let him. And well, maybe John's right. "Fine. I'll call you."

***

When they arrive home with full arms, there are noises in the living room, Eric obviously watching a news broadcast. When they pass the door, Chris recognizes the man who's on and freezes on the spot.

 _Nogura_.

John instantly calls out, "Eric, switch if off."

Chris shakes his head. "It's fine. Let it run," he says flatly, clutching the purchases in his hands. _Fine_ is a stretch, as he notes the room going two-dimensional and the colors dimming, the screen with the broadcast zooming out until it's nothing but a small, distant spot. He knows the effects already — T'Sol has given him test-runs of his reactions in face of emotionally challenging threats. But this is real and so he's still taking very measured breaths to keep the tension down. There's no use in avoiding this moment, though; when he goes back to the Admiralty, there'll undoubtedly be a meeting between them and he will need to make it through that without losing his nerve and control. 

"… Starfleet's peaceful mission of exploration needs to be expanded in the…"

The words are there but he has trouble assembling the message. "They're about to equip more ships with the Borg weaponry, aren't they?" he asks when the broadcast is over. 

"Yes," John says. "An arms race, and they're right on top of it." 

They move on into the kitchen, where John puts the food down on the table. 

"Chris — even if we find out who's behind this, it might not stop the current trend away from the Starfleet you believed in." 

"I know." He's got no illusion about his current sphere of influence in Starfleet, which is extremely limited. No matter what they find out — until it's of truly earth-shaking quality, it won't change the developments that are already in full swing. And maybe he really is the dinosaur in this, unable to adapt to necessary changes. Ever since the Narada incident and the shock of having had so many ships torn to pieces by an unbelievably strong enemy, Starfleet had put more resources than ever into weapon systems. The prospect of using the Narada's own weapon technology as source is probably more than anyone can resist. 

"So, when are you going to be cleared?" John asks, tearing him out of his thoughts.

Chris starts helping to stow the food away. "Whenever the bureaucrats get to it, I guess." While there's a high chance that he passed — the standards for a desk job are far below those of active command — he's had experience with the sometimes sluggish 'fleet bureaucracy. Also, if anyone wants to keep him from coming back, this would be a good moment to block his plans, at least temporarily.

Behind them, Eric chuckles, waving his PADD. "Well, seems someone accelerated the process a little. You're already cleared and restored to your former position."

"You're kidding," Chris says in disbelief. "I've finished the evaluation just two hours ago." 

They all gather around the device, and the proof is there, black on bright yellow, as the headline of the Vita section of Starfleet: "Admiral Christopher Pike back on board!".

Chris' comm pings, and he picks it up to look at it.

_It was my honor to process your reinstitution as quickly as possible._

_Welcome back, sir._

_Lieutenant Ain Ch'Nee_

Eric looks over his shoulder and whistles. "You know this person?" 

Shaking his head, Chris replies, "I don't have the faintest clue who that might be."

"Well, it's a good sign. You do have supporters in the Admiralty."

"Looks like," Chris replies. "Now I just need the right ones." The ones who hold some power, are influential enough to support and protect him if things get rough. He'd been good at connecting with many diplomats but had forgotten too often that he, just like Dael, needed wingmen within Starfleet in general and the Admiralty, specifically. 

***  


It's not surprising that the action of the day gets to Chris at last, and shortly after dinner he collapses on the couch. He doesn't resist when they move him to John's gigantic bed, falling asleep on the spot. Sometime in the night, he wakes up, noticing that he's wedged between two naked, muscular bodies. _Hmmm, hot_ , he thinks faintly and smiles, then drops back to sleep. There's another moment when he notices some uproar in the room, but it's not enough to wake him. 

Next time he opens his eyes, he blinks into a bright room; with the windows wide open and without curtains, the sun doesn't meet any resistance. John's next to him, Eric nowhere to be seen.

"They've gone jogging," John mutters in answer to his unvoiced question.

"They?"

"Dael showed up last night." His friend smirks. "You didn't even notice, did you?" 

"No, but it's great news." Chris yawns. "Jogging?" Just thinking of it tires him.

"Yeah. Sometimes Eric really makes me feel old."

"Wonder when we turned into dirty old men." 

John snorts. "That's your interpretation. Never see myself as dirty." A hand runs over Chris' hip, cupping his ass and pulling their bodies together. 

"Very dirty," Chris murmurs and kisses his friend. It feels good, comfortable. They're in the middle of lazily making-out when the others return, brief noises in the shower that move on to the kitchen. After a last few squeezes, they stop.

"Let's join them," John suggests.

"Fine." Chris gets up, looking around for something to dress in.

"No need for that," John says amused and drags him out into the corridor. "This is a hedonist household."

True to his words, Eric and Dael are in nothing but loosely wrapped towels. 

"Christopher!" Dael walks straight at him with a bright smile, then hesitates as she's right in front of him.

"Dael…" he inhales and reaches out, pulling her close. For a long moment, they're just holding each other in a tight embrace. 

"How are you?" she asks at last, looking into his eyes. 

"I'm good. Very good." Running his hands up and down her back, he cherishes her closeness, inhaling the slight scent of her shower gel. 

"Ah, young love," John teases from behind them, breaking the spell. The bastard just can't stand romantic moments, Chris thinks.

"Jim and Leonard send you kisses, wish they could be here," Dael quietly says, and he nods.

"Come on, sit down." Eric waves his hand at the prepared breakfast table, the inviting smell of coffee in the air.

"Speaking of young, Chris thinks we're dirty old men," John continues when they're seated, Chris to his left, Eric to his right. Bending forward, John laces his fingers into Eric's hair. "So show me how you're going to please your old man," he orders out of the blue, pulling Eric towards him. 

Slightly surprised but instantly willing, Eric slides down to his knees and opens his mouth, embarking on giving his lover a blowjob.

Although the sudden scene is stunningly hot with its wet noises and Chris absolutely gets the idea and wouldn't have any qualms doing the same with Jim or the doc… he can't do it with Dael. It partly relaxes him to find that this hasn't changed, that some of his thinking is just as it was before T'Sol, but it also leaves him flustered and without a good idea how to tackle the situation.

Dael, brilliantly, takes him in hand — literally, closing her fingers around his half-hard organ to give it a nudge, and whispers, "touch me". Glad that he's seated to her right, he reaches out and runs his fingertips along her clit, dipping deeper into the tangible wetness before circling in her preferred motion. 

It's unreal, like out of some porn movie, as they turn each other on while watching John slowly losing all pretense of control and falling nicely apart under Eric's knowing work. Quite entranced, Dael takes him by surprise as she gets up and stands above him, legs left and right of him. 

"Let me…" she says, and he holds onto his erection as she sits down, taking him in to the hilt. 

"Oh, yes." With a moan, he pushes upwards. His hands latch onto her hips to steady her moves, and he frantically tries to place a few kisses on her body, the dark lines that dance in front of his eyes. She rides him easily, beautifully, her moves precise and slowly increasing in speed over time, just the right pacing to bring him to the edge very quickly. He tries to get his fingers on her but the angle is all wrong and she shakes her head and finishes him off instead, driving him right to orgasm. With a groan and a whimper, he comes hard, shoving into her with his last energy. For a few minutes, he tries to catch his breath — then he motions her to get up. Using a towel as makeshift mattress, he lays her on the floor and lies down between her spread legs, licking his come out of her and around her clit. She's very turned-on, trembling against his touch and soon holding his head into place with fingers laced into his hair, rolling her groin against his tongue in needy desperation. When she climaxes, it's with a heady cry that sounds slightly different than the ones he'd heard from her in the past. When it dies, all tension runs out of her limbs and she sinks back, her hand lightly petting his head, legs relaxing to both sides of him. 

He wipes his face with a corner of the towel and crouches over her for a kiss. 

"Love you, darling," he whispers, nudging her between his arms, curling around her. "Thanks for still being with me." He's feeling annoyingly teary-eyed, but she looks a little teary-eyed herself, all of a sudden, as she pulls him close for an intense kiss. 

"Thank you for still wanting me," she whispers back. 

"Always, Dael. Always." They keep holding each other until the floor feels so cold and hard that they scramble up for a hot shower, both stupidly blushing when they meet the others on the way.

***

"So… I guess we should go home now, shouldn't we?" Chris asks Dael at the end of breakfast, when they've cleared the table. John has left the room already, claiming he needs to make a few calls.

Eric turns towards them. "Why don't you stay for a few days?" 

"Stay?" 

"Yes." The young man looks at him, his face unusually serious. "You probably didn't realize how much it pained John when he learned that he'd been right about Alain all along but just couldn't make you see it. He's determined to look after you this time instead of picking up your pieces afterwards if anything goes wrong. And frankly, I don't want to have him doing that either. It's been quite a mess at times."

 _Ouch._  
  
Chris swallows hard, then nods. "I know. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. Dael, what do you think?" 

"It's okay either way," she says promptly. "I've got everything I need right now, and we can always go home and pick up something."

"Just a few days, until you're settled in," Eric says, of course meaning, _until we know whether you're really okay_ , and Chris nods again. Dragging one arm around Eric, he hugs him.

"I'm really sorry," he repeats quietly.

"I know." Eric hugs him back. "We really care for you. Otherwise we wouldn't be so worried."

 

 _Four_. It seems to be his new magic number, Chris thinks as he watches them gather around the table later, making plans that somehow have to do with him, but for a second he's not quite there yet.

He's not substituting his tribe with another tribe. The dynamic with John and Eric is different — his feelings are different. But they are family too.

His ideas of exclusivity and monogamy got revamped over the last week and he's not going to think too hard about his former attitudes with which he'd maneuvered himself into a mental corner far too often. 

"Christopher?" Dael says questioningly, and he moves, taking a seat.

***

Right before midday their time, Dael and he manage a call to the _Enterprise_. There's still a lot of tangible frustration radiating from their men, despite the prospect of hitting Earth in three weeks, and when Chris speaks about his plan to join the Admiralty as soon as possible, the doc's lingering frown deepens.

"Don't you fear you might overdo it?"

"No. I'm going to see T'Sol every other day for the next few weeks, so I've got some cover here. I definitely don't intend to risk my new stability," Chris states. "But someone tried to get rid of me using the worst possible methods, risking all of you in the process, and I'm determined to get back into the game and find out who's behind all this. I'm not going to sit around and wait for the next sneak attack — I'm going to show up in bright daylight to force them to take real action."

Jim chuckles, but his expression is serious. "I'm the last person to talk when it comes to personal safety evaluations, but this could get dangerous, you know. The people behind this seem really determined and might not refrain from shooting you in a dark corner."

"That's where Federation Intel comes in," Dael says. "John and his team have already developed plans for safety covers, and tracking devices are being readied as we speak. Christopher won't go anywhere without security." 

"How about Starfleet security?" the doc inquires.

Dael shakes her head. "Considering that the source of the conspiracy seems to be within the Admiralty, John decided against informing them at this point."

"We're planning to have a little chat with Cho in ten hours. Do you want to join in?" Jim asks, then gets interrupted by a call. "Need to get to the bridge, sorry," he says apologizing. A minute later, Dael also leaves them under a very weak pretense.

When they're alone in the chat, they face each other in silence for a moment.

"You're not faking it, are you?" Leonard asks at last.

"No, I'm not. It feels like a fucking miracle."

"May I ask…?"

"Even if I tried, I'm not able to analyze the last week, so much happened," Chris replies evasively. He's not going to tell the doc that the treatment was indeed harsher and more invasive than he'd expected, that the first three days had been pure hell, every past demon getting a fair chance to rip at his very core. That at times he'd wanted to claw his brain out of his head just to be done with it. 

A wise old ex-patient had compared it to ancient chemotherapy, but for the soul — you chose it because you believed in its healing power, but you hated it and struggled with it every step of the way. Only over the last two days had Chris been able to enjoy the stability the treatment had finally brought, with the psychotic cancer of his mind partly erased, partly under tight control behind the walls and security measures they'd set up. At least there's no chemobrain side effect, no reduced cognitive abilities — he hasn't been able to think as sharply for months. The results are definitely worth the suffering.

But Chris isn't really willing to share these details with his still concerned lover, so he offers a half-truth. "Actually, I knew several of the methods she used, not all that different to human psychologists… guess it was the mix and the emotional intensity that made all the difference." With a wistful sigh, he adds, "I wish I'd known about this possibility long ago."

"Doubt you'd have been ready for it any earlier," Leonard says softly. "Usually, our subconscious knows perfectly well when we're ready for a change. There's no use in trying to force it before that. " 

Chris nods. "No use in brooding over the past. I know."

"I'm just glad you're better now," Leonard says, touching the screen with his fingers. "So damn glad. Wish we'd been there to pick you up." 

"You'll be here in three weeks, doc."

"If things pan out," Leonard says darkly. "You never know with the 'fleet."

"I'm hopeful, and so you will be too," Chris orders. "I'll join you for the chat with Cho later. Godspeed for now, lover."

"See you later, Admiral." Leonard waves and signs off.

***

Chris hits the kitchen for another strong espresso — another thing that hasn't changed from _before_ , his total coffee addiction — then goes to find Dael. She's in the guestroom, and obviously had been waiting for him, the cushions and blankets arranged into a comfortable nest for two. With a sigh, he curls into her lap. 

They rest in comfortable silence for a while, her hands brushing through his hair in a regular rhythm. Hypnotic.

"Aren't you curious?" he asks at last, looking up at her.

She meets his eyes for a moment, her features relaxed and calm. "How would you tell the night about the day, the wonders of light?" The rhythm breaks, her fingers caressing down his neck as her gaze drifts. "Sometimes, when he was high, Raol asked me about my… transformation. But I never found the right words. So I stopped talking about it."

Chris rolls over a bit, looking up at the ceiling. "I know what you mean," he says after a moment of thinking, catching her hand as it runs down his collarbone to caress her fingers. "I couldn't really describe it either. Just wanted to make sure you know you could ask. You of all people… you could always ask, and I'd tell you anything you'd want to know. No matter how wretched the answers would be." 

"Remember the sacrifice of birds poem?" she asks after another a long silence, "the one you disliked when I quoted it?" 

"Sure." He'd tried to read it in Romulan during her absence, but it was full of strange metaphors… and afterwards, well, he'd lost all of that language.

"Someone explained its real meaning to me during my mission. The lovers sacrifice their wings, but the death is only symbolic. They enter a new life. It's different, earth-bound, but it's life."

"I still don't like that poem," he says spontaneously, eliciting a chuckle from her. "Besides…" he sits up so that he faces her fully, putting one hand on her cheek in a caress, "everything about you tells me that you're well on your way in getting your wings back."

Dael blushes, sweet pink tingeing her tattoos. "Very small wings — I wouldn't want to jump from a tree yet."

"But they are there. I can see them, in the way you behave, the things you do… every new painting you did… and they are beautiful." He pulls her closer, leaning his forehead against hers. " _You_ are beautiful."

He's glad she doesn't contest his judgment, only cups his face and kisses him. They sink down and stop speaking. 

***

Afterwards, they're relaxed on the bed, each one checking a PADD for news.

"Tomorrow night, there's ballroom dancing at the Andorian Embassy," Chris says. "I got an invitation and want to accept this time." He'd received similar invitations all throughout his absence and recovery, and they turned out to be surprisingly encouraging. A signal that the world he'd been a part of before his first breakdown still hasn't forgotten him — left the door open instead for his return. 

He looks at Dael. "I'd like you to be my date. Would you?" 

"Yes," is her instant reply. "Just need to go home to get a dress."

"Hmm." He hadn't thought about what to wear in his impulse decision. 

"Are you going to wear a dress uniform?"

"I don't even have one yet that fits," he admits. "Only ordered a normal one."

"Then do it," Dael says, and he smiles amused over the hint of an order in her words. Obediently, he sends a message to the shop for a new dress uniform.

"Guess I could also wear it at our ceremony," he says lightly. 

She's staring at him in absolute silence for a moment.

"You know what I mean," he adds, his throat suddenly tight. "The partnership ceremony." 

_You said yes. Please don't say No now._  
  
Dael sits up. "You really want it?" 

"Yes. I still want it."

 _Please…_  
  
She smiles. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asks incredulously. "You give me a first class scare and then you just say, _okay_?"

"Yes. Fine. I still want you, and I'll still marry you if you want it."

He draws a face — _marry_ is still not his word of choice. 

"Why didn't you just push me down on my knees for a blowjob?" she asks all of a sudden. "You could, you know." 

"No, I can't," he answers without thinking. 

"Why not? What makes me being a woman so different?" 

He can see it in her eyes, she really wants to know, and she _deserves_ to know. Just an hour ago, he'd promised he'd answer every question she has — he just isn't prepared for this particular one. 

"Oh Dael…" he sighs. 

"I remember how you spoke about the stay-at-home wife and the heterosexual asshole. Were they your parents?"

He still hates even thinking about it, always glad when his past stays in his past, but he owes her the explanation he'd given the doc long ago. "Yes. I grew up in what could be called a conservative sect. They are few and far between now on Earth, but they still exist. My father was a misogynistic asshole, truly believing women — including my mother — to be second class humans. I've worked hard on my own attitude towards women, but in moments with power differentials, I still do badly. Having you on your knees… I can't do that. Just can't."

"So it's not about my age?" she muses.

"No. It made some criticisms harder to deal with, but no."

"And when I'm in boy mode?"

"You're not boy enough for me to make the underlying gender problem vanish." Chris smiles apologetically. "Sorry for that. A lot of people think I fell for you because you look like one, but actually I fell for you despite you being a woman."

With the past still on his mind, he feels like adding another insight. "My father wasn't all bad… I learned a lot about bravery and standing up for your beliefs from him. Just wish he'd had some more positive ones. He was a judgmental and prejudiced bastard; in his teaching position, he tended to sit down at the beginning of the school year and sort the kids into the ones who had the correct lifestyle and those who didn't, and then distributed the points accordingly. He did it so skillfully that it took them years to find out, but I knew and I swore to myself that I'd never let people’s background cloud my judgment. Everyone deserves a chance, no matter their past."

"You gave me that chance." Dael smiles, catching his hand. "Thank you."

"Thank you for sticking to me, love." He puts a kiss on her fingers. "So — marry me?"

She shakes her head with a laugh. "It's a _partnership ceremony_. And to tell you a secret — I like that better too. I want to be your partner, not your little wife, as some see me."

Chris shudders over the expression. "Ugh." Tightly holding her fingers, he looks at her — the girl who's somehow turned into a grown woman over the last months while he hasn't been around, but he's no longer freaking out over that and what the world at large might think about them. Let them think he turned straight; he knows better, and she does too. 

***

"Your uniform is here," Eric says when they leave the room a while later, waving a package. 

Chris notes how his fingers tremble when he opens the package under the gazes of his friends. It's the normal uniform, the one he ordered first. 

Slowly he takes out the jacket, unfolding it. It's smaller than his last one; despite trying to build up some muscles, he still hasn't returned to his old shape. The doc had warned him that the meds aren't supportive of training, but he'd still hoped for some effect. 

The material is smooth, bright, flawless. No blood anywhere.

"Put it on," Dael says. 

"Give me a minute," he says tersely. He also takes the pants out of the parcel and walks off to change in the guestroom, closing the door firmly behind him. He really needs a moment of privacy, unsure about his reaction to the uniform. 

But then all his fears turn out to be groundless. The man in the full-length mirror is unbelievably _him_. Turning in front of the polished glass, Chris is surprised by how much he looks like his old self, as if there hadn't been quite a few life-changing events in the meantime. 

He has no idea what he expected, but not this feeling of _homecoming_ , and it makes him speechless for a moment.

It also casts a smirk on his mirror face. 

"Knock, knock." Dael opens the door and peeks in. "May we…?" Without really waiting for an answer, they all join him.

Chris stretches his arms to the sides, pivoting on the heels of his boots in front of them. "So, what do you think?" he asks, unable to rope in his by now bright, smug grin. "Am I back, or am I back? Christopher Pike, Starfleet Admiral, at your service." He salutes them.

Eric chuckles. "Fucking hot. You make that design look better than on anyone else." 

"He was always the best looking admiral in the front row of the assembly," Dael states, looking quite satisfied with the result as she leans against the door frame, arms laced. 

John smirks. "I think we should order a second uniform now. Can't let him go out all rumpled tomorrow."

"Hmm?" Chris eyes the mirror. "It's fine as it is."

"Not for very much longer." And then they are suddenly all over him, with Eric on his knees in front of him and Dael biting his neck right above the uniform's collar and John's fingers on his nipples, and he stops thinking and just goes with the flow.

Afterwards, the remains of the fine garment sacrificed on the altar of Venus still in sight, Chris orders another _two_ new uniforms. Just to be on the safe side.

***

Due to Caren Cho's challenging schedule, the conference call gets moved twice, finally putting it at three-thirty in the morning. As they're going to speak about events with a certain security level, it's just Chris and John on Earth. On the _Enterprise_ , the three top officers are seated together around a conference table.

"It is good to see you in restored health, sir," Spock says when they greet each other over the line. 

"Thanks to your folks," Chris says. He's well aware that he was given a premium treatment by the Vulcans, not sure yet how he should ever pay it back.

Spock tilts his head. "Healers can only offer options. It is up to the individual to make the best choices and see it through."

Next to him, the doc rolls his eyes but stays shut.

A second later, Cho signs in. "Good afternoon, gentlebeings." Then she looks at Chris. "Damn, it's good to see you," she says, heartfelt. 

"It's good to see you too," Chris says, more moved than he'd have thought. 

"It's been months, hasn't it? You wouldn't believe how shocked I was when the news about your breakdown came in. Of course I'd guessed that there was something going on in HQ, but you just wouldn't say a word until it was too late."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that." 

Jim waves. "Can we proceed?" 

"Sure, go ahead," Cho says and turns towards Jim. "You were quite secretive when arranging the call. So what's it about?"

"This is about events that took place over the course of the Pathfinder refit and weapon development," Spock says. 

She instantly gets serious, her back a little straighter. "You know I can't talk about anything classified top secret."

"That is not necessary, as this is about the sign-offs for tests of various weapons — documents that are available to bridge officers now."

He pushes a few buttons, sending the links to the files to Cho's desk. She gives them a look-over. "Do you remember this weapon?"

"Of course, the dredger torpedo," she mutters and draws a face. "Terrible fuck-up, pushed into tests before it was ready."

"Do you remember who signed off on it?"

Caren's nose crunches in thoughts. "Esteban tried to push it through, and when that failed, he passed Chris and had one of Shaa's people sign it. That was the first time I realized that there was something fishy going on. That damn thing killed three people during the tests, but passed anyway and got installed. If I were nasty, I'd wish that thing would explode right under Esteban's ass, but that's bad style."

Jim nods. "Please, look at the signature."

Cho scrolls down and freezes. "Admiral Christopher Pike…? No. " She looks at them all with disbelief. "I'm so sure… but that would mean…"

"I didn't sign it," Chris confirms. "And that only leaves one explanation: someone falsified my signature."

"Nobody has falsified such a signature in the last twenty years," Leonard mutters the common wisdom, and everyone nods — except for John, who shrugs and says, "Well, at least nothing that could be proven."

"So it's possible?" Cho asks, eyes widening.

"Not by me personally, but I'm sure there are ways. It would need an intervention by a very high-ranking person though, to get that passed."

"How high?"

"Federation President and his circle."

The fact settles for a moment, before Jim flatly says, "Of which Nogura is a member."

John nods. "Shaa is gone but there's a new Andorian ambassador, Kal'an. He has a military reputation, rumor has it he will join the Admiralty when the waves from your affair have finally subsided."

Cho shakes her head. "So you really think that Chris' signature was falsified here?"

"Yes, and there are other suspicious cases that we’ve inquired about," Spock says.

"But — why?" Caren looks around.

"Make me look like the one pulling the strings at a time when I didn't really anymore?" Chris suggests. "Esteban had started to pass me by, Shaa's people helped him, and Nogura all but ignored me."

"A bit much effort just to have a scapegoat if anything went wrong, don't you think?" Cho asks. "This isn't just a little tweak, it has very serious implications." 

Chris nods. "The implication is that the Borg task force — and the weapons we developed and implemented — were far more the focus of the highest political circles in the Federation than we have assumed."

"I always thought you underestimated the importance of your position," Jim says to Chris. "I remember the day when we gathered for the weapon demonstration, you were in the center and you didn't even notice it."

"Just doing my job," Chris states stiffly, that day still not one of his favorite memories.

"Of course I knew how important that project was," Cho says. "But we've got dozens of important projects running."

Jim shakes his head. "Starfleet hasn't invested that much in an armory program for fifteen years."

"So what? There are Romulans and Klingons pushing against our borders, this isn't just about the Borg." Cho shrugs. "We lost ten percent more ships in the last two years; we got weak."

"Weak?" Chris asks with a frown.

"The latest slogan in the media," Leonard says. "The public hasn't been blind to the shift from scientific peace-keeping missions to the installation of more offensive weapons, even if the true scale of the military build-up is still under wraps."

"Maybe someone feared you could turn into a public figure against that build-up," Jim muses. 

"The _Pathfinder_ was his project," Cho points out, "and she's out there as living proof that Chris did a fabulous job, no matter his private opinions." 

"Thanks for speaking out for me," Chris says, "but as I see it, Nogura definitely developed the opinion that I was the weakest link in that project. Asking Jim to sign the complaint against those Ship Operations orders was only the final nail in that coffin."

"It was Shaa's influence," Jim says, making a face. "As if she’d hexed the upper ranks of HQ. Worst commanding officer ever."

"How's Illyon doing?" Cho asks.

"Much better. At least she knows the effects her orders have on the ships and their crews. It's clear she still feels like one of us."

"Despite being potentially unprepared for a strategic position in HQ due to only having served on ships, Captain Illyon accepted her weaknesses and surrounded herself with the best advisors," Spock says. "She has a reputation for being easy to work with and open to criticism. There is strong competition for her team, and several highly qualified officers who had little inclination to work on Earth have joined her." 

Jim grins, nodding towards his first officer. "He really likes her."

"Well, then maybe ask her about this….?" Cho suggests.

"Not yet," Chris says. "If Nogura's somehow involved in this, which I strongly assume, it's better she doesn't get into the potential crossfire."

Cho's gaze thoughtfully drifts to Jim. The captain answers her unvoiced question. "This is Chris' game right now, I'm trying to lay low."

"Jim Kirk, laying low?" Cho chuckles. "Does that include throwing your officers’ time at the problem?"

"I volunteered," Spock says a little stiffly. "If this conspiracy has implications for Starfleet in whole, it is the duty of every officer to help with the investigation."

Cho raises a hand. "No problem with that, I'm not your superior officer, and frankly, I have the feeling that I should best forget that I've talked to you tonight."

"Always knew when to pull out of the heat to save your career," John, who'd been unusually quiet for the last minutes, says, barbed.

She's only amused. "Ah, John, you know me — give me some facts to act on, and I'll do so. But political conspiracies are your field of expertise, not mine, and it doesn't look as if you need any more people involved in this. Not when Chris is up to his usual game. Just remember the Palantri campaign."

Jim and Spock exchange a gaze. "The peace expedition?"

"Well…" Even John grins as Caren explains, "Chris pushed those poor people into doing the best for their planets, and it involved a fair share of saber-rattling. If necessary he's got that BMF expression that says — _I'll make true of all my threats, so decide quickly._ Considering that everyone should know Starfleet doesn't shoot first, he convinced them quite well that _he_ might be different."

"Well, I'm not very good at diplomacy," Chris says, smiling over the memory. "So I've got to be good at something else, and they really got on my nerves."

Cho's communicator chimes up, and she temporarily mutes her screen to take the call. Before anyone finds something to say in the sudden silence, she's back online. 

"Need to go, folks. Sorry for that, but I guess you have all you need by now, don't you?" 

Not really waiting for an answer, she adds, "Good night, see you around," and switches off. In a quick decision, Chris reroutes a line to her onto his communicator, stepping outside into the corridor for a private moment. She instantly accepts his call.

"Caren."

"Chris. You know I didn't mean it as it may have sounded," she says slightly apologetic. "Bring me hard proof and I'll back you up. Seriously, I wish I knew more but from my point of view, the project was one of smoother ones over the last years. That makes me almost feel as if there had been two projects, the one you were involved with on Earth, and the one I worked for."

"Yeah, maybe. I know how you meant it and if you had come to me with such a story, I would've reacted the same. But considering what I already know by now, I'm not going to sit tight until the next move against me might beat me out of the game for good."

"No, you shouldn't," Cho says seriously. "Take care, please, now more than ever."

"Promise," he replies. The connection closes from her side.

He comes back to the kitchen in time to overhear John's words, his friend's voice rather annoyed. "You realize that you got to know a very tempered-down version of Chris, right? Chris before and after the Narada is a very different man."

Chris shakes his head as he takes his seat. On the other side, only Jim and the doc are still online. "Sharing old stories, John?" 

"Just reminding your tribe that you haven't always been little red riding hood — one doesn't get the flagship for being all sweet and gentle." 

"You don't have to be a wolf either," the doctor quips. 

"Maybe not," John says, "but Chris was one. He was the CO who could make you shake in your boots with just one glance."

"Hope I wasn't that frightening." Chris tries to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "Are we done here? You wanted to know whether I had waved through the tests, and I didn't. I think we better sign off for the night, it's terribly late here. We could call you tomorrow again, set up a plan." 

"Fine," Jim says, cutting the doc short who'd just been gearing up for a tirade. "Good night, Earth. Read you soon." When the screen darkens, Chris marches into the living room, starving for a strong drink.

"What the hell, John?" he asks, while giving his friend a glass of bourbon. 

"I'm sorry," John says, somewhat ruefully. "There's just so damn much they don't know about you, and sometimes I want to take them and shake it into them."

"I know what you're at, but I'm good with all the things they don't know. Because this way, they're able to live with me as I am now, not with the ghost of past, more heroic times."

John laughs, with a sarcastic edge. "And I can't, you think?" He downs the drink, takes the bottle for another shot. "Frankly, right now I think you're more yourself than you've been for the last several years. I see that hunter instinct back in your eyes. Yes, you're more careful because you want to protect them, but you are willing to go damn far again for your goals and the things you want. I guess we'll learn in the long run whether they'll like the guy with less of a conscience and more of an iron fist as much as they like the hot lover and diplomat in the making." 

Deep in thought, Chris listens. It's impossible for him to judge how much — or not — he's back to being the man he'd been on the morning of Jim's hearing, before everything went to hell, but John might be right that he's got at least some of his former edge back. How much, only time would tell.

***

Their plans for a quick follow-up meeting fizzle over an _Enterprise_ scheduling conflict, and just as Chris gets concerned about the potential emotional backlash of the strange end of their conference call, he receives a message with an attached vid.

 _"Something for you,"_ is all that Jim writes, and he takes a heavy seat on the nearby couch, opening it in foreboding. 

The second he sees the first image, he starts to smile.

Recorded with a handheld cam, it starts in what's got to be the captain's quarters, judging from the queen size of the bed. In the half-light, two curled figures can be seen under the blankets. The cam draws closer, zooming in onto the upper half of the bed. In sweet sleep, Leonard spoons Dael, his face buried against her neck, his arm curled around her chest, their hands laced in front of her. A beautiful picture, and it turns even more beautiful when Jim gives them a wakeup call from behind the cam, and they open their eyes, yawning and then moving around to face each other for a lazy morning kiss before waving at the cam. The End. 

The doc and Dael. He starts the vid once more right away, stopping at the kiss. 

The doc and Dael. Finally. Finally. 

" _You're a miracle worker_ ," he writes to Jim when he's done staring. 

" _I didn't do anything, except to give them some space to get to know each other. I knew Bones couldn't keep that stick up in his ass forever_ ," Jim writes back.

" _Heard he sent you the vid_ ," the doc writes soon afterwards. " _And probably wrote something about a stick in my ass. Well, yeah. At least I'm never too old to learn and grow_."

Dael leans over his shoulder as he reads it. 

"You kissed," Chris says, still in vague disbelief. "I just hope you didn't stage that for me."

"No." She glides down onto the seat next to him. 

He's waiting for an elaboration, but she doesn't offer one. 

"What happened?"

She shakes her head with a smile. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"Dammit…" He playfully pulls her close, cuddling her. Then he presses his nose into her hair, closing his eyes and enjoying the incredible happiness he feels. The rectangle, closed at last. Now nothing could go wrong. 

***

Not having the promised office in the Admiralty yet, Chris decides to tackle another aspect of his life that he'd ignored for too long. The house Eric delivers him to is old and tall, looking as if it has been renovated repeatedly over the centuries. It's as unique as its owner.

"Chris," Arissa says when she opens the door, voice neutral, face strangely impassive.

"I was in town, thought I'd give it a try," Chris says. He'd asked Dael for her address and usual schedule, but he hadn't been sure she'd be at home. "May I come in, please? Just for a few minutes." 

"Sure." She lets him in, shows him to the kitchen. "Want a coffee?"

"Yes, thanks." He watches her move; she looks as energetic as always, her long black curls swinging with every step she makes.

At last they're seated on her kitchen table opposite to each other, both with a cup in front of them. Arissa tries to be subtle, but Chris notices she's checking him out. They haven't seen each other since well before his breakdown, and while Dael probably kept her lover up-to-date, it's different meeting in person again. Especially as Arissa had been Dael's safe place only last week, when everything had looked like it was falling apart once more. She's a part of his extended family, and it's time to acknowledge that.

"Ask ahead," he says, holding her inquiring gaze.

"What brings you here?" 

"I wanted to thank you. And apologize."

She listens in silence.

"You've been here for Dael when I couldn't be. I'm sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused - and especially for the scene I caused last week."

Her eyes darken upon that reference. "You better be. It was a damn fuck-up." Her mouth signals disapproval. "First Jim, then you. There are days when I wish I'd never met any of you, because heaven knows Dael is so crazy about you that she'd never leave you."

"Jim?" he asks confused. "When was he here?"

That brings her impending lecture to a stop. "Oh." 

"What's the matter?" 

She gets up for another coffee. "You better ask Dael about that," she says over her shoulder, before her machine noisily brews a cup.

It takes a minute before Arissa sits down again, cradling her fresh cup. "I'm sorry, Chris," she says. "I know you didn't ask for what happened to you, and I know you never wanted to hurt her."

He nods.

"When Dael showed up and it looked as if you had attacked her, I was fucking angry that your doctor had been obviously ignoring your unstable mental state. Then Jim came to pick her up for your meeting and told us about the radiation poisoning… well, it's fine to have a good excuse, but seeing her leave with him right away… I didn't think it was a good idea." 

"You don't think I'm the right man for her," Chris says calmly. 

She runs one hand through her curls, taking a moment before answering. "I sometimes have my doubts that your foursome is the right place for her. Of course, it's her own decision — I just don't want to be the one picking up her pieces again and again."

Suddenly things fall in place, and his vision changes, the scene flattening in warning. "What happened in my absence?" he asks sharply. "Did Jim hurt her in any way?"

"No. Well —" Arissa sighs. "Not intentionally. He said something stupid, and she came here for a break. He came after her not much later, and they talked and left together. Ask them if you need to know more."

He stares into his cup of coffee, pitch-black, then moves his eyes to the bright red table cloth. Only when he's successfully brought back all colors by sheer will, he trusts his voice again. "And then it happens again, because of me… You really must think we treat her badly."

"No, Chris. I don't. I know that you all work on doing the best you can, for all of you, and she's really quite happy in this relationship. But sometimes she gets hurt and I'm too protective for my own good then." Arissa smiles sadly. "I know she doesn't like that. Thinks she's all grown up, knows what's best for her. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn't, and I want to shake some sense into her. Like with that Intel mission that she only took to prove to everyone, including herself, that she's worth being with you."

"She didn't need to do that for me. I hated to see her go, but it was what she wanted, and I swore to myself I'd never get in the way of her choices," Chris says. "And that includes you," he adds, nodding at her. "I know I'm not easy to get along with at times and I'm more possessive of Dael than I should be, but it's important for me to say that I'm glad you're here for her too. And not just when Jim or I fuck up." 

"Even though I banished that vanilla lube?" Arissa asks, smirking.

"Even then." He pulls two key cards out of his pocket, placing them on the table. "I wondered whether you could do me a favor. These are the keys to my old apartment, two rooms, complete kitchen, some leftover furniture that could go. I thought you might know people who are in need of such a place." 

She raises a brow. "Just like that? How about rent?" 

"I'd prefer it being useful to someone. The basic costs are on me — just make sure it's put to good use."

"Fine. Thank you." She takes the cards. "Even in our almost perfect world, there are still people in need at times — this will be a great help."

"You can program new key codes too. I'll send you the instructions to everything you need to know about the apartment."

Arissa looks at him thoughtfully. "Getting rid of old things?" 

"Yes." Of old memories, of everything that's got to do with Alain, of his fallback place that he doesn't need anymore. "Got to move forward."

"What are you going to do with your new life?"

"First, find out who's been working against me and what it's all been about."

A light frown creases her forehead. "You know how that Klingon proverb goes…"

He smiles, strangely secure in his new calm. "Definitely a dish served cold."

"And after that?"

"Not sure about the details, but _living happily ever after_ with Dael is on top of the list." 

The frown vanishes as Arissa smiles. "She's very good with that."

He's ready to leave, and they're already at the door, her hand on the frame when she says, "Jim and she spent quite a lot of time at my parties. He's such a sweet boy when he can let go, which probably isn't very often, and she had a fun time with him… but he's not you. You're the most important person to her. You know that, don't you?" 

"Yes. And I stopped running away from that." He turns towards her. "Thanks again, Arissa." He wonders how to convey his bone-deep gratitude but she's quicker, draws him into a hug and doesn't let go until he slings his own arms around her, answering her embrace. It's intense and yet peaceful, and the last of his tension is running out of his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, his head leaning against hers. 

"Fuck, that's been overdue," Arissa mutters when she lets him go with a last pat on his shoulder. "Give my best to your tribe, and I hope we'll meet again soon."

"Got every intention — I fear nothing will keep Dael from dragging me to one of your upcoming parties." Chris smiles. 

"I sure hope so! Good luck in your hunt, Chris, and take care."

"Will do. Bye."

He leaves with a spring in his step, heading to a very different visit. 

*** 

The club — _his_ club — is still dark, it's not even midday after all, but the cleaning crew is at work as Chris enters through the back door, slow steps bringing him to the main room that looks unsexy and bleak without its usual illumination. 

It's strange to be back; his last evening here was with Alain, the night before his ex had… 

"Chris!" 

Chris turns with a smile. "Ole. I hoped to find you here." Ole, his business partner, looks as good as ever; being the nordic type — tall, blond and muscular — he's one hot guy, although Chris has never felt particularly attracted to him. Which is probably good for their ongoing joint venture. 

They hug briefly, then walk into the office together. "Have a seat," Ole says, as Chris sits down at the small conference table. "Anything to drink? Coffee?"

"I'd never say no to coffee," Chris says, and seconds later, his fingers close around a hot mug full of pitch-black brew. It's strong and dark-roasted, perfectly meeting his tastes. 

"I'm so glad to see you," Ole says when he sits down opposite to Chris, a cup of his own in his hands. "It's been so long… I tried to contact you a few times but then John told me that you couldn’t be reached and that I'd just have to wait for you to call me." 

"Yes. Sorry for that. I couldn't deal with anyone for a while."

"But now you're back," Ole says with a smile. "So — what brings you here?"

"Just wanted to have a look, wondered how things are going." Chris takes a sip of coffee. "Guess it's part of my own little personal campaign to get back to a normal way of life." Seeing Ole's expression shift a little, he hastens to add, "I don't want to interfere with your current activities. Might take a while before I've got time to spend with the club organization, but I'd definitely like to, in a few months." 

Ole leans back in his chair, the line of his shoulders signaling slight tension. "You want to get more involved?"

"Yes." For the longest time, the club has been running without Chris' active participation, and the few times he'd interfered hadn't been to Ole's liking. They'd had some conflicting ideas about how the club might evolve, and he wouldn't be able to promise that they wouldn't have further conflicts in the future. But he absolutely wants to have Ole stay.

"More bright ideas, like with the Rainbow Ball and a mixed party?" Ole asks.

"Maybe, yes," Chris says cautiously.

Suddenly, Ole grins and gets to his feet, rummaging around on a shelf. He comes back to the table with a paper poster. Of course, nobody hangs those up anymore, but the few prints that are still produced have turned into rare collectibles, offered by clubs as bonus to their fans. 

"Once a month," Ole says with a smirk and unrolls it. After rescuing his cup of coffee from potential destruction, Chris looks at it.

 _Worlds Collide_ , it says in bold, red letters. In front of the picture a very gay-looking top in leather pants and a rather curvy and definitely dominant woman in a black corset face each other, she wielding a riding crop like a sword, the man's hands empty but outstretched in a playful fighting pose. Behind each of them, their mostly same-sex followers are gathered, men and women in leather or sexy party outfits. There's a hint of handcuffs and whips, and the club's St. Andrews cross visible in the background. 

"A mixed party?" Chris says surprised. "You _hated_ the idea when I brought it up!"

Ole shrugs. "Well, yeah, took me some time to wrap my mind around it, and it's still not my favorite night — but we've attracted quite a few interesting people with it, thanks to Arissa's word-of-mouth. And that's been really good for the club. And for myself," the man adds with a wink and a pat to his bulge.

Chris ponders the scenario. "It does sound a little like a fight, or at least a competition. Do the groups get along?"

Ole nods. "All fun and games. Things have gone surprisingly well during the four parties we’ve had so far. The next is going to be in six weeks. You and Dael could attend — if she's still with you, that is," Ole quickly adds. 

"Yes, she is," Chris replies. "And we're going to make it official with a partnership ceremony soon." He doesn't feel like inviting Ole to the small gathering he's planning, but having a party in the club some weeks later sounds like a fun idea.

"As you obviously have everything perfectly under control, I'm going to leave you with the business." Chris gets up, placing the empty cup on the table. 

"If you want to get involved — just say it," Ole says. "You know where the books are; give them a look if you want to, and ask me for anything you don't understand."

Chris shrugs. Number crunching has never been one of his interests, and he's eternally thankful that Ole likes to deal with that boring chore. "I'm sure they're perfectly kept. I trust you."

"I know. Thanks for that." Ole lays a warm hand on his upper arm. "Thanks for showing up here — glad to know you're back on your feet." 

"I am. Send me the party date, and I'll see what we can do. Talk to you in a while." 

Ole shows him out of the back door, and when Chris steps into the light of the day, he inhales the fresh air and smiles at himself. Another important step forward in dealing with his past, and once again with great success — he wouldn't mind if his good streak continued like that.

Picking up his comm to make a call to Eric, he finds a recorded message. His old friend Natasha looks and sounds good on the vidcall, leaning towards the cam in visible excitement. 

" _Hello Chris,_

 _I received your message. I'm so happy for Dael and you, congratulations! Of course we could have the ceremony out here. I talked to Tom and we agreed to use his farm, he's dying to do it for his favorite uncle and I think he's got a crush on Dael, though we shouldn't tell Cordelia."_  
  
Nat chuckles, shaking her head.

_"The list of guests… you're sure you want to keep the party that small? Of course, it's your decision. Please, get back to me to arrange the details._

_Love, Nat."_  
  
Chris instantly calls her back but only reaches her box. Unwilling to start a cycle of recorded messages, he hangs up. He'll try again later.

***

In the afternoon, the doc calls him, reaching him in John's apartment. Chris' good mood dampens a little as he notices the serious face of his lover. 

"Bad news?" he asks carefully.

The doc gnaws on his bottom lip for a second. "I did some research, tried to find out if any suspicious person had access to your medical data."

"Let me guess — you found nobody unauthorized."

"No," the doc confirms sourly. "Aside from myself, the only people who accessed it in the months before your breakdown were Naaz and four members of her team. All others came afterwards: three doctors from the clinic where you were before the beach, and now the people who performed your medical checkup for your reinstitution."

"All of whom we can exclude." 

"Exactly."

Suddenly, John's suspicion concerning Naaz Anumanchi hangs heavily between them.

"I really don't think Naaz has got anything to do with it," Chris states, assuming the doc would agree, but instead his lover's thoughtful frown only deepens.

"I wish I could say that, but Naaz… she's got her history, as you know, the death of her first husband, and she's not in favor of the 'fleet, even now. She returned to SFM for the best research conditions but I'm not sure she ever forgave them how they handled the Narada."

"That might be true but why would that make her act against me?" Chris asks. "If she were part of this conspiracy, she could've knocked me out anytime, with just a little variation in my drug cocktail. She wouldn't have needed Alain for that."

The doc hums thoughtfully. "Might have been too obvious."

"I don't think so. Given how unstable my state was, nobody would've been surprised about another medical crisis. Not even you."

"You're right," the doc says at last. 

"Her team, though, those four doctors — I can't even recall their names, but they would've had the knowledge to help the conspirators. Might be good to learn more about them."

"True." Leonard's mood markedly lifts as Chris shoves Naaz out of the race for prime suspect, where he'd never seen her anyway. "I'll look into their medical background and give the names to you and John so that you can run inquiries on their Starfleet details."

"Good." Chris nods. "So — how is it going in general?"

"Jim's running a smooth ship right now. So far, the new weapon and defense systems seem to be doing well, but I know that Spock and Scotty are triple-checking every screw and chip. Especially of the dredger torpedo." 

"Understandable."

"The gain in shield power — not that I understand a lot about that — seems to be enormous. HQ claims that with the new defenses, we'll be able to withstand six NABs."

"NABs?" 

"Uhm." The doc coughs. "Narada attack bursts. It's a new unit of measurement for hit power. Sorry for bringing it up."

Chris' vision instantly shifts to the worse. 

_How dare they name it that._  
  
For a second he lets the flat image of reality settle before replying coolly, "Well, it's better than being down after two. I need to sign off, doc. Talk to you soon." He cuts off the line abruptly, then leans back in the chair with fists balled.

Dael once had accused him of always drifting back to thinking about the Narada. Well, _they_ aren't making it easy for him to keep away from that cursed name.

Stretching his fingers, he looks at them, taking in the details of his bones and skin until they are fully three-dimensional again. Miracles come at a price, and there's still a lot of work to do, obviously, before certain names and terms will stop challenging his control out of the blue.

He picks up his communicator and calls T'Sol for a same-day appointment.

***

Maybe he'd been a little too ambitious when deciding to attend the reception at the Andorian Embassy on the same night, but he couldn't pull out now. He takes a nap and showers afterwards, getting ready to wear his brand-new dress uniform when the door opens and Dael walks in.

"I thought I'd wear this. Do you like it?" 

It's Dael's moment -- dressing up and asking for his opinion, getting ready for an evening in the spotlight.

And damn, Chris thinks, what a spotlight it will be. She's all in dark red, wearing a knee-long indoor manteaux of buttoned-up velvet, embroidered and covered with unobtrusive paisley patterns stitched onto the material. Her hair is styled in fashionable tornado waves, and her face only carries a bit of make-up, her tattoos uncovered just as he prefers, especially for tonight. On her feet are matching dark red platform boots that end right under her knee, buckled and decorated with silver chains. They're not as scandalous as those yellow overknees from the Rainbow Ball, but aren’t far behind. She's almost his height when she slips into his inviting arm, pressing her full length against him.

His blood rushes down hard.

"Do you like it?" she asks again. 

Running a hand from the shaft of the boot up her naked leg, he slips it under the cape. He ends cupping one buttock, his thumb stroking her skin. She feels fucking good, and he pulls her closer, letting her feel his growing bulge.

"Christopher," she admonishes him. 

"Hmm, yes?" he mutters and starts placing kisses along her chin. 

With a giggle, Dael pulls away. "We don't have time for that." 

"Well." Chris checks the time. "We've got one and a half hours. I can dress in ten, the ride is twenty… we've got a date." He takes her hand to pull her to the bed, relieved when the expected protest doesn't come.

"It's hard to complain when my dressing up has such desirable results," Dael whispers into his ear afterwards, stretched out next to him. He has no idea if her outfit for tonight can be saved. "Love being wanted by you." 

Chris sighs in relief. Not that her hearty participation had left any doubt about her consent but it's good to hear she sees him as less of a dirty old man than he does himself in such moments. "I think you gave me a new fetish for that style of boots. Never had much effect on me in the past, but I’ve had moments in which I’ve caught myself ogling young female cadets because their short skirts and high boots reminded me of you."

His hand slips down again, caressing the soft skin of her upper thighs. Still so slim, but at least no longer fragile. He chuckles as she raises her upper leg, making room for his roaming hand. 

"Not sure we've got time for that," he teases her, then captures her bottom lip to suck at it gently. 

"We do," she states hungrily, and yes, it's great to be in demand, Chris thinks as he moves down to lick her clean… well, kind of.

Unsurprisingly, they're fashionably late. But as John correctly notes, this will only make their entry more dramatic. 

***

Chris sobers on the way to the embassy, looking out of the window, then to his other side at Dael. She's yawning a little, and quickly hides her mouth behind one slim, gloved hand. A damn sexy gesture.

"It will be fine," she says, putting a calming hand on his leg.

"Hope so." He cradles her hand. "You know, when we show up there tonight, it will put things in motion I can’t foresee. And you could draw the attention of whoever is behind this too. I'd never want to endanger you."

She looks at him incredulously for a second, then rolls her eyes and chuckles.

"That's not funny," he states, a little annoyed.

"First of all, I was on a mission for six months where every minute was more dangerous than anything I've ever encountered on Earth. Second… nobody told you, but there have been more newspaper articles on us and on our unusual foursome relationship. Our connection has been public ever since Jim and I attended the Admiralty's Ball."

"Oh, right," he says lamely. Then he looks at her sharply. "Newspaper articles?" 

"Nothing that should influence you. We all can take care of ourselves. We know what we're into — and I know what I'm in for, Christopher." She sits up a little straighter, reordering the cape before looking squarely at him. "I'm not here on a whim, I'm here to fight this fight on your side."

"I know. And I appreciate it more than I can say."

"Appreciation is one thing — what I want is that you accept it."

He huffs a laugh. "Right. Yes. I accept your help. Thank you for being with me." He leans over to kiss her. 

She pets him and twinkles. "See, you can say it if you only try."

The Embassy's ball is in full swing when they arrive, and he can feel dozens of stares following them through the entry hall and into the ballroom. His uniform feels tight and stiff, but at least it helps make him more determined and self-assured than he feels. The Andorian ambassador and his three partners greet them in person, exchanging some kind words before letting them move on. He's withdrawing more into himself by the second, his automatic self-protection mechanisms flattening the scenes until everything looks a little like it’s made from cardboard. 

The true challenge, though, comes the second Dael leaves his side to greet someone, and he's suddenly all alone in the mass of people and freezes on the spot.

Maybe it's too early, he thinks as he tries to breathe steadily, his attempt thoroughly ruined when a hand descends on his arm. His head whips around. 

"Mori," he manages. He hadn't seen her in person since that strange meeting in front of his apartment house, when he'd been completely overwhelmed and out of his depth.

"I'm so glad to see you," she says, face flushed in obvious excitement as she pulls him into a hug so fast that he doesn't stand a chance of escape. 

For the fraction of a second irrational fear tightens his throat, and an impulse to run makes his legs tingle. Then he accepts the feeling and lets it go, but despite just vanishing, it lingers like dust, not making his breathing any easier. 

"When Jack said you'd be here, I couldn't believe it, so I thought I'd check with my own eyes." Mori clings to him, arm laced with his. "Let's have a drink together." She drags him to the bar, ordering two synthehol cocktails. 

He ignores the drink and pulls away from her touch. She looks at him in surprise.

"Last time we met, you gave me the creeps," he says in a voice he barely recognizes as his own.

She looks stunned. "That wasn't my intention at all!" 

"You rang just when everyone had left. I absolutely didn't know how to handle you."

"It was mere chance that I rang. I never expected you to open the door, thought it would be Kirk or your girlfriend. You looked fine — a little nervous but fine, and so I thought, well, Chris always reacts best when being pushed a little… you know, you never were one for kid's gloves."

"I was back then. I was fresh back in town from three months of recovery, fucking vulnerable and fragile, much as I hate to say that. A second attempt was being made to drive me insane, and you played right into their hand," he says, his icy voice echoing back into his mind. It's an interesting effect as another layer shifts over the flattened scene; almost like the glass walls he'd experienced after his breakdown, but somehow more organic and a part of him. So this is how it feels when he's really under pressure.

T'Sol's treatment was so damn worth it.

He faintly notices Mori's remorseful look. "I'm so sorry," her voice permeates the distance towards him. "You never once in your life appeared anything like fragile to me, not even when you were still in that chair. You were always a tough bastard and a fighter — and seeing you tonight, it looks like you're back to being one, right?"

"Excuse me." Dael's appearance spares Chris from answering, and he's grateful when she pulls him away into a quieter corner.

"You okay?" she asks, concerned and trying to assess his state, as he leans with his back against a nearby column. In contrast to his other experiences, it's almost impossible to bring back the colors and the third dimension, the protection so fortified that he can barely dismantle it on his own. He makes a mental note to discuss that with T'Sol. 

"She's strange," Dael says. "Jim doesn't really trust her, but he's good at hiding it."

"She's Head of Ships Operations and his superior." With a sigh Chris leaves the secure spot and straightens in the middle of the corridor. If this had been the test run for facing Nogura, it wasn’t promising. 

"Let's go and dance." Dael takes his hand, guiding him out into the hall again. He waits for more stress but it doesn't come. They're on the middle of the dance floor and she's in the lead although they dance in traditional gender orientation, and he's breathing regularly, the scene slowly gaining its full reality.

It's still a victory, he decides and forces a smile on his face. 

 

When they're home, there's a text message on his comm, 

_I never wanted to hurt you. I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you. Mori._  
  
Looking back at the evening, he's not sure why he reacted so strongly when seeing her, whether it had just been too many people around him on the embassy. Right now, he feels a little stupid about it, and so he texts back, 

_Sorry for overreacting. Thanks for the support you're giving me, it means a lot to me. Talk to you in a while. Chris._  
  
***

His office is just as Mori had promised — large, on a high floor (but not Nogura's), and quite empty. The surface of the desk is polished, flawless like his uniform, the shining console, and the large screen on the wall.

It's kind of unreal, and Chris takes a deep breath before settling in his new chair and starting the console. It greets him with the usual calm, male voice he prefers, offering him the usual options, asking for his demands. Same procedure as last time he'd been here, on the morning when he'd decided to hand in his resignation — not even normal retirement, he'd been so incredibly demoralized and pissed back then. He thinks of Esteban, remembers how the young captain had been the final nail in his coffin by confronting Chris in his own club. Throwing the man out had been quite a pleasure. 

Letting the negative thoughts go, he settles his hands on the keyboard, left and right, calling up the latest internal admiralty news. He's reinstated, and he's going to use his power to research every damn possible trace of the people who wanted to get him out of the way.

Leaning back, he's about to order text to speech delivery when someone enters without knocking. 

"Lieutenant Asimov," Chris says surprised when he recognizes his former language teacher, the poor man who had suffered so much under his terrible Romulan. And all for nothing, too. He gets to his feet.

Maneuvering through the heavy door, Asimov puts down two cups of coffee and a paper bag on Pike's over-polished desk surface.

"Sir," the man says, smiling all over and offering his hand. "Welcome back."

Overcoming his surprise, Chris manages a handshake. "Who sent you here?"

"I came on my own account," Asimov says steadily. "If you ask about my superior — well, Captain Illyon was very accepting of my suggestion that I could support you in the next weeks."

With an incredulous grin, Chris shakes his head. "You're on Mori's staff?"

"Well, one of the last things you obviously did was commend me to her, so when she decided to take her new position, she interviewed me and accepted me onto her team. I don't know what you said to her, but…thank you, sir."

"Nothing to thank me for. I recommended you because I believed in you. With the right command officers," Chris adds as an afterthought. 

"Right. No way I would've worked for Shaa," Asimov states openly. "I'd rather have left the service." He smiles at Chris. "Don't let your coffee get cold, sir. I'll be back in a second with plates for the donuts — bagels were out."

The young man vanishes, quickly returning and taking a seat opposite to Chris.

"I'm really glad to see you," Chris admits frankly, cradling the strong coffee in his hand. "It's strange to return here after so many months."

"I can imagine," Asimov says, heartily addressing one of the chocolate donuts. 

"You exchanged some mails with Dael, didn't you?" 

"Just a few, after her return. She all but vanished again afterwards, though I gathered she was with you then."

Chris nods.

"So, your Romulan…?"

Chris shakes his head. "Gone. Like it was wiped out."

"You're sure?"

"I tried, Dael tried… You could just as well talk Chinese to me. Well, no, I think I remember a few words of Mandarin. But Romulan, nothing. The doctors didn't have a good explanation. My only one is that my brain really, really hates this language."

Asimov chuckles. "I could tell, but I was still impressed how hard you worked on it."

"I wanted to impress Dael, connect to her past." And of course, he had been curious about Jim and Dael's exchanges in Romulan. 

"Well, rumors have it that she's still impressed by you, Romulan or not," Asimov says a bit too casually.

Chris smiles happily. "Yes, she's still with me, we're going to sign the papers soon."

"Congratulations," the young man says.

They quickly finish their breakfast. When the plates are gone, Asimov takes out a PADD. Time for business.

"I figured you'd like a briefing on the most important events of the last months," he says. "I collected all the information and sent it to your desk this morning, but I'd like to give you a run-down, if you agree."

"Fabulous. Go ahead." Chris waves his hand and leans back in the chair, a new cup of coffee in his hands, listening to Asimov's beautifully prepared, concise and well-filtered collection of news. 

_Thanks, Mori_ , he thinks. He's not ready for another talk with his old friend yet, but if she keeps buttering him up like this, it won't take long. 

***

As it turns out, Dael is available for lunch in the officer's mess, and as Chris really wants Asimov and her to get to know each other better, he organizes a table for three in a more secluded corner. It's another first time as he walks into the mess, and despite trying to be invisible, he can see people looking and nudging their neighbors, a sudden rousing of whispers in the hall. Dael is already seated, about which he's glad as it means she's escaping this wave of public interest.

"I'm sorry, I tried to warn you…" Asimov says under his breath. Chris nods tersely, getting into the line for food. People in front of him turn their heads, the first greetings and congratulations on his return are offered, hands are shaken. Walking to the table is something like running the gauntlet, although everyone is nice and thankfully also brief in their welcome. Last thing Chris could stand now would be lengthy smalltalk. 

With a sigh, he puts down his tray on their table, his stiff back to the mess. 

"Dael — you already know Lieutenant Asimov from your exchange," he says, just to say something. "Lieutenant, my partner Dael."

A sudden wheezing of the loudspeakers makes him stop. 

" _Attention, everyone._ " The noise in the mess dies, and Chris' heart sinks. " _We've got a special guest today. A man whose great career and work in the 'fleet spans more than three decades, tied to many major events that made it into our history books already. Welcome with me, back on duty — Admiral Christopher Pike!_ " 

Applause rises as everyone gets to their feet, clapping their hands or comparable extremities, and Chris feels his face heating. Unable to escape it, he takes a deep breath and turns, facing hundreds of eyes looking at him. Most of the mass blurs, only few individual figures standing out, some of which he knows, even served with at one point or the others — and suddenly he can't help remembering that in this same cheering crowd, there must also be those that circulated ugly rumors and worked against him behind his back.

Not knowing what else to do, he raises his hands in a welcoming gesture. "Thank you," he says, though nobody can really hear it over the noise in the room. "Thank you. Glad to be here again." He stands for another moment, then turns back to his table, gliding onto his seat. 

"I'm fine," he states, though the tremor in his voice belies it. "Guess it was a bad idea." 

Dael puts out one hand, touching his. "Not at all," she says and squeezes it.

He nods at his two companions. "Just give me a moment."

"Of course, sir," Asimov says calmly, and the two quickly embark on a discussion about the Romulan Empire. As most of his concentration goes into keeping his calm, Chris only loosely follows their exchange. Considering that Asimov had once been very critical of Dael's public board postings and the opinions she'd voiced there, they seem to get along quite well in person.

It's a far cry from that one joint lunch with Esteban, who'd been extremely critical of Chris' relationship with Dael. Sitting together with Asimov feels good and familiar — as long as he ignores the still lingering gazes he could feel on his back.

Dael laughs about something, and he looks up from his plate. 

"Sorry, we're discussing Romulan in-jokes. _Lloann'na'au-d_ -"

"Never mind," he says with a smile, stopping her from a probably lengthy explanation he wouldn't get anyway. "Go ahead." 

Lunch is quite a success. He's still glad when he can hide back in his office.

***

The morning had been quiet but in the afternoon, the news of his reappearance makes the rounds and people start to drop in or call. 

Some, though, _storm_ in.

"Pike! You're just the man I need," Komack says as he shakes his hand energetically, as if he wants to tear out Chris' arm. 

"You must be in dire need," Chris says amused. "Let me guess, an instructor broke his back this morning."

"Nothing that bad, but Lieutenant Oldtr got Andorian Shingles — thankfully, they could be stopped before any of the horrible effects set in. However, he's out of business for this week, and as it's an advanced class on strategy and currently discussing major 'fleet battles, I thought you could step in. Tomorrow morning and Friday afternoon. How does that sound?"

His first impulse is a _no_ ; but then he notices that the situation feels so beautifully normal — Komack hadn't asked about his state at all, talking to him as if it had been hours instead of months since they'd last seen each other — that Chris changes his mind and nods. "Two hours should fit in."

"Great. I'll get the lesson plan sent to your desk. And Pike — welcome back." He claps Chris' shoulder and is gone a second later.

***

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and it just hasn't so far," Chris says to John in the evening, when they're alone at the kitchen table, the youngsters having gone for another jog. "People really seem to be glad I'm back."

"Why shouldn't they be? You've got to realize that barely anyone knows the full story behind your absence. McAllister has been removed from service, and has disappeared from their minds. What they know is that Admiral Christopher Pike has returned to duty, the man who led Starfleet into a new decade of strength with the new weapon systems."

Chris is speechless. "They really think that?"

"That's how the _Pathfinder_ project has been sold to internal and public media. Nogura kept conveniently in the background. You're the man who rose from the ashes of destruction over Vulcan to do anything to keep such an event from occurring again, even sacrificing your own health once more." 

"I feel sick." Chris buries his face in his hands.

John gets up to pour two glasses of wine, then comes back to push one of them into his hands. "Darling, you've always known that behind the myths, there are real people and real events, messier and uglier than anyone wants to know. Cheers." He winks at him.

As if in a trance, Chris takes a sip. Unwanted, the faces of the applauding officers in the mess hall come back to him. Their image of him might be mistaken, but he suddenly understands what he stands for in their eyes. He had his own inspiring officers to look up to — an organization like Starfleet needs its heroes. 

In a way, it would've been easier to stay the Admiralty outsiderhe'd been right before his breakdown; if he's successful in his quest, it might shake up Starfleet with unforeseeable consequences. The thought won't keep him from trying to solve the puzzle, but what felt like his own personal revenge suddenly gains a dimension he hadn't seen before.

Also, he's definitely drinking too much in John's company, he thinks with a sigh as his stomach complains in the middle of the night. He restlessly tosses back and forth for a while, until Dael curls around him and ushers him back to sleep. 

***

His second day at the Admiralty starts with the lecture, which is both easier and harder than anticipated. It feels like ages since he’d stood in front of a hall, speaking to an interested audience. The cadets hang onto his every word, and when he walks away afterwards, he manages to catch some appreciative comments and a certain glee that they'd been the first group to have the pleasure of a lecture with newly reinstated Admiral Pike. It's clearly something to boast about among their fellow cadets. 

An exemplary man. A vague shiver runs down his back.

In his office, Asimov awaits him with a cup of coffee, a donut, and some interesting news about secret contracts between Starfleet and a company called Nuclear Nebular or NN for short.

It turns out to be the one piece of information that starts the ball rolling.

Two hours later, the doc calls him. "I've got some news… or non-news. Want it now or later?" the doc asks.

"Bring it on."

"We're still trying to find the medical informant, but we hit a dead end. Naaz' team members are still the likeliest candidates, but we couldn't find any proof that any of them had their hands in this."

Chris ponders the information. "Guess I need to speak with her," he finally says.

"You would do that?"

"Yes." It would be weird, but also kind of cathartic, meeting his former doctor again.

"Love you, Chris. Take care." The doc quickly signs off.

Spock sends him an in-depth analysis of the dredger torpedo. Chris only understands about half of it, but in essence, the weapon seems oddly misconstructed for its official task, which was to shred the target's hull to pieces. It ends with the dry conclusion:

 _The data suggests that the torpedo was originally designed with another goal in mind. In addition, despite its appearance, the technology inside is not Borg-based (with a probability of 85.3%)._  
  
Chris relates the news to John — and after a moment of reflection, to Cho, both messages double-locked to their private keys. 

_Suddenly, some things make sense_ , she replies unusually quickly, adding a few plans and test data from her own department. Underneath she adds, heavily underlined,  
 __  
Be careful, Chris. Please. If you let yourself get killed, I'm going to come after you and kick your ass, in heaven or hell!  
  
"Love you too, Caren," he mutters, amused, earning a confused glance from Asimov. 

"So, what else do we know about Nuclear Nebular?" he asks, with a strange sense of certainty that this trail would eventually lead them to the center of the mystery.

****

Arissa sends him a brief note that a young couple with a child had settled into his old apartment, forwarding him their heartfelt gratitude.

 _Always knew you were a good man_ , she writes. _Now you just have to believe it yourself_.

She's got far more insight into him than he likes. 

Being the only one without a full time job right now, Dael takes on most of the cooking. She seems to be in an experimental phase, trying out strange new flavors every evening. 

"Still buying Romulan spices from Caitleen Barnes' father?" Chris asks out of curiosity when he finds her shredding the characteristic leaves of _rhlliene_ tonight. 

She tenses over the bowl. "No."

He's sorry for having asked; clearly, Dael's former girlfriend Caitleen is still a sore spot. Last thing he remembers is that the old Barnes had forbidden Dael to contact his daughter — how incredibly old-fashioned — but he doesn't remember whether that had been the end of their relationship. 

Dael turns towards him. "I helped her with a project while Jim and I were waiting for your return from the beach, but her father just didn't stop insulting you. That is, until I told him that Caitleen and I were in a lesbian relationship, at which point he threw me out. She broke up with me the next day." She walks to the sink, cleaning her fingers overly fastidiously. 

"After that, I wrote negative comments about his shop in every online forum I could find, pointing out that he's a homophobic asshole. A few others who'd been treated badly in his shop joined in and it turned into a veritable campaign. He closed his shop two weeks ago."

"Oh." Chris doesn't know what to say. He's not really sorry for Barnes getting his own for his bigotry, but being forced to close down the whole business… 

"You know that kind of man, they never change," she states darkly, looking at him. "And one day, Caitleen is going to learn that he's not worth her support."

"He's her father," he can't help saying. "She'll always feel connected, one way or the other."

"There's such a thing as displaced loyalty." With verve, Dael kneads the shredded leaves into the dough she's prepared, and puts it all into the oven. 

He still stands there as she leaves the kitchen, frozen by the sudden sense that there's something he needs to understand but can't grasp yet. 

"Christopher?" She's back, laying a comforting hand on his upper arm. 

"All fine," Chris hastily replies, following her into the living room. 

*** 

"I thought about Esteban," Chris says later, eyes dreamily resting on the second glass of damn good red wine he’s had tonight. True, he wants to drink less, but he figures he can start that once they're back in their own apartment, in a few days, where there aren't such superb vintage wines available to him.

"Did you," John says with slightly glassy eyes, half a bottle in the lead, naked feet propped up on the living-room table.

From a distance, Chris can hear Dael and Eric talking and laughing about something, music playing in the background, but his thoughts keep returning to their current problem.

John doesn't seem to mind. "So, Esteban," he says and heavily puts his feet down on the floor, waving a shaky hand. "The good guy, despite it all. Even you think so. Starfleet definitely did and gave him the _Pathfinder_."

Chris looks up from the dark-red liquid. "What always rankled with me was that Esteban, in his fifth report, was the one to suggest that we fight the Borg with conventional techno-biological weapons. It was _his_ suggestion first. And then, when he was back on Earth and on the task force, suddenly he was against that, and solely concentrated on bigger and stronger weapons. What the hell changed?"

"Or maybe — who changed his mind? You had a weapons presentation, right?" 

"Yes." Looking back, Chris can't summon the dark feelings anymore which he'd sharply felt on that day, over the Narada-based weapons (no longer as intimidating, even though he still hates seeing that name being used by idiots), over being challenged by Jim (only in his head) or Nogura going behind his back (still true), the whole group supporting preemptive strikes, now that they saw the possibility of highly advanced weaponry. A sudden fascination and, dare he say, _love_ for armed confrontation was in the air that day. Barely anyone could wait to get those almost sentient, self-configuring, self-healing little demo objects into their hands, already dreaming of the larger versions.

The technology could create incredible weapons… and just as well incredible life saving devices. Chris's left hand reflexively goes up, feeling the back of his head. Of course the implant isn't tangible, too small, too deep inside his skull — but when he thinks of it, he still feels the _alienness_.

An alien tool that grants him the ability to walk and talk and live like a human being. That makes him good enough to pass the medical checkup and return to restricted duty, possibly full duty in the future.

"Earth to Captain Pike?" John waving his hand brings Chris back to the room, the couch he’s sitting on, the half-empty glass, the candles in the corner, the sounds from far away. 

_Breathe._  
  
"Yes. The weapons demonstration," Chris says. "Everybody was for a preemptive strike, except for me. They all wanted the warfare technology of the 24th century."

John sighs. "I know, we're working from the assumption that someone wanted to push these weapons by all means and keep Starfleet from considering other means. But maybe that isn't the actual reason. Maybe you were indeed the guy with the minority opinion because you hated to see Narada technology being incorporated into Starfleet, and their plan was better than yours."

Chris sits up a little straighter. "The technology is great, but chances are we'll deliver the means of our own annihilation right to the front door or the Borg. The _Pathfinder_ is untested in battle, the weapons are good but first generation — we all know how bugs tend to turn up no matter how many test runs anything cycles through. A biotechnological weapon would've been adapted to the Borg and only hit them — these weapons, if they get assimilated by the Borg, would hit us so hard, we'd be wide open to an invasion. And it would be a hundred years before what Sp- … well, someone predicted."

"I know what the old guy said about the other timeline," John says darkly. 

"Our analysis shows that the Borg stopped their expansion in the Alpha Quadrant a hundred years ago. The only time the Borg of our timeline got into contact — and conflict — with us was the attack on the _Enterprise_. Not before that, not after that. They wanted _that_ ship."

"The _Enterprise_ seems to have a special meaning to them." 

"In the other timeline. Not in ours." Putting the glass aside, Chris gets up, too agitated to sit still. He flips on the nearby touchscreen on the wall, calling up the drawing surface.

"They stop a hundred years ago, for no reason our scientists could discern. They show up and attack the _Enterprise,_ which escapes by a scratch. A few months later, we've got a task force in full swing, while at the same time, the weapon development is pushed forward."

"It was being pushed long before that, Chris," John says rationally. "They worked with material that was found after the destruction of Vulcan, when they cleaned up the mess."

Chris cringes over the wording. 

"Sorry. The battlefield," John corrects himself.

It hadn't been a battlefield, more like a graveyard, but Chris doesn't want to discuss terms, not when he feels like he's close to the core of all of this. "All right. They develop the technology behind extremely closed doors — so close that nobody within the Admiralty besides Nogura seems to have seen it before the presentation. And I was one of his closer friends, or at least I thought so until that day. Or maybe, before Dael happened. He's never been pleased about that development."

Shaking his head, John takes another sip of wine. "Don't mix it all up, Chris, stay on track. So you say that the weapon development had been Nogura's pet project. His _personal_ pet project, in which only extremely selective circles at the Federation level were involved. He puts you in the lead of his task force, which speaks well for his trust in you, and then you go and _don't like_ _his_ _weapons_. Dael was only the icing on the cake of his frustration. You were probably his biggest letdown in recent years."

"Thanks, man," Chris mutters and scribbles on the touchscreen. Nogura in the center. Scientists to his lower right — not Chris's team, but the ones who developed the weapons. People he was only in contact with via Cho, when they started to equip the _Pathfinder_. Mostly blank slates to him; he never even learned who'd been leading that particular team. Quite possibly, this is the area where Nuclear Nebular comes in.

A line down to Cho, who'd wanted the project to be carried out at her terminal, actively working for that goal — and bypassing him, maybe on Nogura's command, maybe not. She's in charge of half of Utopia Planitia by now, with more refits of ships already planned. A quarter of Starfleet's armada is scheduled for dock time, as he's been able to read in the Admiralty's inside news. An extreme amount of supplies is being pushed into the refit program, more than into any other technology update of the last fifty years. He'd been shocked to see the actual numbers in some files that he'd been able to read with his reinstated security clearance.

Did Nogura know something that Chris didn't, and was annoyed when it looked as if Chris torpedoed a development that was absolutely necessary for the Federation's survival?

Or had Nogura declared this to be his pet project, to be nurtured and pushed forward, and just couldn't stop anymore, now that everyone within the 'fleet seems to have subscribed to it? _Too large to fail_ , an old but still true catchphrase.

Or had Nogura followed the ideas put forward by someone else? Which could only mean someone in an important position on the Federation council. 

Chris writes Shaa's name left of Nogura. A warrior. A hero. Had she come in on her own account, had she been sponsored by Andorian officials, or had Nogura actively sought her out? Possibly a mixture, but where had it started? And why had she been allowed to bring in other clan members on staff projects — like his, with Thelin?

Thelin, who's next to her now. Who'd possibly been placed with Chris as bait, to get him into bed, either to get him to spill interesting secrets, or to blackmail him with whatever material they might collect. Sex per se, no matter how weird, wasn't a problem — but they had other taboos. 

Like, _don't give head to your girlfriend's artificial dick in a shop_ , Chris thinks and draws a question mark next to Thelin. There had been that edited photograph that went to the press, which protected Dael and ruined his relationship with Nogura further. Also that one shot from the Rainbow ball, but anyone could've taken that.

So many possibilities, he thinks sourly when looking over his scrabble. The feeling of being close to the solution vanishes, replaced by the frustrated realization that if this had been easy, John would've solved the puzzle long ago, right after his breakdown. 

In a last thought, surprising himself that he apparently considers them relatively unimportant, he adds McAllister and Alain to the picture. That makes it look only fuller but not clearer, and he gives up, wipes the screen and shuts it down. 

"Fuck," Chris says, heartfelt, and empties his glass. When he turns, he finds John scratching his chin in thought.

"You forgot Mori," John says.

Chris nods tiredly. "I don't know what to make of her. I don't understand why she took the job, what she wants — what she wants from me in particular."

John chuckles. "She's the easiest of all. She just wanted to make things better for the active ships. Under Shaa, Ship Operations issued so many orders that nobody could understand. Mori herself almost lost her ship in a fight. SO was a fucking mess, and I guess that was the point when Mori just couldn't stand it anymore, not when she could make a difference."

"So — she's a good guy?" The first, strange discussion with her after his return from the beach still makes his stomach squirm. It had been traumatizing on a wholly unexpected level, leaving him unable to interact with her directly so far. 

"She's bad at diplomacy but yes, I actually think she's a good guy here, and someone you can trust… well, to a degree." John smiles crookedly. "You didn't trust me for a long time either, and you were right."

"A long time ago, I had gut feelings I could trust in. Sadly, those feeling got warped away." It wasn't even because of the _Narada_ , Chris thinks. It happened before. 

"Actually, aside of Alain, I think your success rate isn't bad. Got you three fabulous lovers, didn't it?" 

Chris looks at John, trying to locate the usual sarcasm in his words, but there isn't any.

There's loud laughter, turning Chris' focus to Dael and Eric in the other room.

"How about joining them?" John gets up, stretching his limbs with a yawn.

"Good idea." Enough useless pondering for the night.

***

The next day passes uneventfully, if one could call it that, considering that they made big steps in following the red string from Nuclear Nebular towards other potentially involved companies and 'fleet figures.

It's Chris' account they're working on — he really doesn't want endanger Asimov, he's far too fond of the young man (purely as a mentor) and besides, he wants to challenge his opponents. His approach is in bright daylight, and while he's waiting for the other side — who're undoubtedly watching him — to get into action, he'll collect the information his tribe and John will need to act against the conspirators.

Once in a while when he gets a coffee by himself, he notices a man in the corridor who always gives him a friendly nod before walking away, and knows that this time around, he's not alone in this — there are guards, there's a tracker under his skin. He's being watched and protected, and it makes his heart easier. 

He just wishes he weren't so nervous every time his office door opens, always gearing up his nerve in case it is Nogura … the one man he really can't face yet. 

Still on restricted duty, his work day ends absurdly early at 1400 but he takes his time, going to the mess for lunch. It's a tactical move to get more into contact with colleagues, and it pays off — Asimov introduces him to other members of Illyon's team, and while Chris doesn't say a lot, he's listening all the more. 

Obviously, she's surrounded herself with a really great group of officers, and it's clear that even if they might criticize small things and decisions, they're all dedicated to her and the whole department of Ship Operations, which has always been one of the core units of Starfleet. He'd already noticed that the tone has shifted markedly from Shaa's to Illyon's command. The work atmosphere has recovered, everyone is polite and cooperative again - and nobody's speaking condescendingly about Ship Operations anymore. 

When they leave again for Chris' office, he remarks on the positive development to Asimov. 

"You shouldn't really be surprised about that, sir. After all, you've known Captain Illyon for many years."

Chris shrugs as he walks over to his console. "I thought I knew her enough to understand why she never wanted a desk job. Learning that she was the new crown prince was strange." 

Asimov frowns, looking down at his PADD. 

"Go ahead and ask your question," Chris says.

"I thought you were friends, but it seems there's currently tension between you. Can I — help with anything?"

"No, but thanks. As far as I can see, things will clear up between us soon." A few more weeks, at max, and he'd be able to deal with Mori again face to face. Preferably when he'd solved the puzzle and can be sure that she wasn’t part of the conspiracy. "I'm going to do some more research. Why don't you go and do your actual job?" he says, with a friendly smile to show that this isn't just an excuse to avoid an unwanted discussion. "Give my regards to your boss. She couldn't have given me a better welcome gift than allowing you to work for me."

For a second, Asimov looks like disputing Chris' suggestion — then he nods and leaves. 

***

What was intended to be a little research turns into two hours of digging, until a call from Komack who wants to remind him about the second lecture he'd promised, wakes Chris from his intense surfing. It's not that he's got actual, new material, but the names within and outside of Starfleet and Earth officials that turn up in connection with Nuclear Nebular are quite illustrious, some even spectacular. All of them belong to the more militant wing when it comes to Starfleet activities; no wonder NN is the leading company in the current arms' race.

Surprisingly, though, Nogura's name shows up only rarely. The old man only attended some official events that NN made in cooperation with the 'fleet, and none of the business events aimed at buttering up the people who'd have to release the credits and materials to arm the whole armada.

Maybe Nogura kept especially far from them to hide his activities. However… Chris can't shake the impression that whatever Nogura's plans were, they hadn't directly involved NN. Which makes it all the more mysterious. 

He's not prepared for the door of his office to suddenly open, and for a brief moment, everything zones out and leaves him in a world of few details. Then the pattern settles into lines, and his vision clears to the sight of Dael in normal clothes, all black in tight jeans and leather jacket. Sexy, is his first thought, before a second one settles.

"Thought I'd collect you," she says matter-of-factly.

"They let you enter this floor?" he asks roughly.

"Well, my ID card worked." She stares at the couch. "It feels like an eternity since I've been in your office." Tentatively, she pats the material, then sits down. "I know it's a new one, but this room's got the same feel as your old office." Dael smiles. "Remember our tutoring sessions? You must have been frustrated at times."

Chris smiles back. "Well, every minute of frustration was worth it." Then he swivels back to his console. "Give me a few minutes."

"Sure." Dael makes herself comfortable, curling into the left corner of the couch. 

It's easy for Chris to retrieve Dael's ID card record and assigned rights, and he's not surprised to learn that they are too high for her actual position in the 'fleet ( _cadet, on unlimited leave for personal reasons_ ). When he sees the name behind the latest authorization, though, he freezes.

Nogura.

Either the old man wants to appease him — or this is a trap, laid out so that he'd do something that would make removing him from the service easier. 

"It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you," Chris whispers, shutting down his console.

"Hmm?" Dael hums from the couch, half asleep. 

"We should go," he says, silently steering her through the building, away from curious gazes. Once they're out in fresh air, he states, "Don't ever come to my office again unless you've got an absolutely important reason for it."

She frowns, then shrugs. "I had a serious reason." She waves at his car, parked in one of the reserved spots. "We're going home."

"Oh, was John finally ready to release me?" 

"Yes."

Taking the passenger’s seat, he watches her drive onto the road. 

"I've already been there, started the coffee machine. The trunk is full, we've got all we need, including enough food for two days." 

There's that _caretaker and housewife_ vibe again, which he doesn't like at all, and combined with the unlimited leave note, he can't help asking at last, "Don't you feel like doing something more useful with your life again? How about going back to the Academy?"

She gives him a sideways gaze. "I'm busy enough right now."

"Doing what? Helping John?"

"No, actually I'm working on something else, but I'm not ready to tell you about it yet."

"Oh." He looks out of the front shield in thoughts. "Not even a hint?" he asks a minute later, when he finds he's got no idea what she might be up to.

"No," she states, offering him a slight smile. "You'll see in due time."

"Okay," Chris says, resigned to having to wait. "Just hoping it's going to be a nice surprise for me."

"Of course." With ease, Dael drives through the rather dense traffic. Considering that she’s only has her license for a year she's become quite an accomplished driver.

Their home feels a little strange (and definitely too empty), and he has to make a conscious effort to keep from checking whether the apartment has been booby trapped once again. 

"John and I have gone through it all, twice," Dael says as she catches his eyes lingering on the ceiling of their bedroom. "It's cleaner than clean, besides two sensor devices for intruder alerts."

It still takes him more than one night to claim back his apartment.

***xxx

His fourth day at the Admiralty once again starts with a lecture, this time a little more prepared than before. From the battle of Andoria, the discussion rapidly takes a philosophical direction, about loyalty and what it really means.

Not wanting to squash the lively discussion, he only loosely directs its flow, moderating in the moments when some over-eager debaters are close to taking it over by sheer noise. Watching these young men and women declare their dedication to Starfleet is…

… _intense_ , he settles with. 

It'd been years since he'd felt that connected to the 'fleet. Which is sad, considering that he'd literally given decades of his life to the service, with barely any private life and interests to speak of. He'd been the perfect poster boy back then, because he'd meant every word when speaking about Starfleet's peace-keeping mission, thus managing to recruit the very best young people. And despite having seen some serious bullshit going down in the service too, he still considers Starfleet the best possible organization for the job to be done — securing the Federation and Earth, protecting democratic systems and personal freedoms for everyone.

When had he started to focus more on himself than on the organization he'd sworn to nourish and grow?

With a sigh, he takes his PADD, only now noticing that everyone had left already. Time to talk to a certain someone.

 

By pure luck, Chris finds Anumanchi on her way to the cafeteria in the SFM building, eyes focused on a PADD in her hands. He approaches the doctor who'd treated him for months before his breakdown. 

"Hello Naaz — got time for a coffee with me? Or is it a bad moment?"

Her head whips around on his words. "Chris." For a moment, she stares at him — then tentatively moves towards him, offering a handshake that he readily accepts. 

"I'm so glad to see you," she says, "I just wanted to take a break, so your timing is perfect". They get two large cups of coffee and sit down in a quiet corner. 

Over the edge of his cup, he gazes at her. She's looking good, though a bit overworked, judging from the dark rings below her eyes. 

Interestingly, and somewhat comfortingly, his mind connects nothing to her but helpfulness and support. 

Naaz in return is checking him out too, and when she puts down the cup, she's smiling. 

"What is it?" he asks.

"It's a miracle, seeing you like this. The last time I saw you… I can't deny I was extremely frustrated when you pulled me off your case, but I think I came to understand over time."

So she hadn't been there when he'd been forced to make that emergency visit to SFM a few days ago. For a moment, he looks out of the windows onto the green in thoughts before answering, "I don't think I was rejecting you, specifically. I was pulling away from everything and everyone from the past. I'd hit a dead-end all around and just couldn't get back to the same life and its endless trying."

She nods. "And now?" she asks.

He doesn't feel comfortable sharing any of his potential, complex answers, so he moves forward. "For now, I'm back here and looking for answers."

Naaz frowns. "Regarding the man who poisoned you?" 

"At first it looked as if mostly two men, McAllister and my ex Alain, had worked against me. But it's more complicated. A second attempt was made to drive me crazy, so now we're digging deeper. We're looking for someone with full access to my medical files, who gave away sensitive information from my interviews shortly after the Narada."

"I see." Her smile vanishes. "And you think, I would…?"

"No," he answers without hesitation. "I didn't think that for a second."

Her lips quirk. "But Leonard would, wouldn't he?"

"He had his doubts, but not for long."

She sighs. "Can't blame him. He got to know me at my very worst, when I hated everybody who'd survived the Battle over Vulcan."

"That's long over, as far as I'm concerned. Aside from that — you could've easily killed me without anyone getting suspicious. You wouldn't have needed anybody else."

"True," she concedes. 

"But as nobody without proper authorization seems to have accessed my files, we think it might be someone from your team back then."

"My team? Never," Naaz says resolutely. 

"Naaz — I can sympathize, but the four people who were on my case all would've had access to the information that was used against me. That was put together to brief Alain on how to erode my mental health and stability. To drive me to resign, and to drive me insane if necessary."

She looks away, blinking. For a while, there's only silence between them. At last she rubs her forehead and turns back to him. "If — really an _if_ — I were able to find something, what would you do with the information?" 

"We'd use the person to find the next in line."

"There isn't a chance that you could leave him - or her — alone, could you?"

"There will probably never be an official investigation," Chris says. "But would you want to keep working with someone who'd sold private medical information?"

She looks very sad as she says, "No, I wouldn't." 

"Will you give it to me? The name?"

"Not yet," she says. "I need to make sure it's the right one."

He's getting concerned. "Be careful. It looks as if there are powerful people behind this, and if they realize what you're up to, you might be in danger."

"Now you make it sound like a thriller."

"I mean it, Naaz. You wouldn't want to end up where I did."

"You recovered."

"I was lucky. Just two weeks ago, I had an outburst and hit Jim. I was in absolute despair, thought I'd never be able to live a normal life. Only thanks to a Vulcan healer am I sitting here and talking to you like a rational human being. I wouldn't have been able to do that for the last six months."

Naaz takes a deep breath. "All right. Give me two days, and I'll see what I can do." 

"Thank you." They get up from their chairs together, and he walks her to the turbolift to the upper floors of the building.

"Take care, and I hope to hear from you ASAP."

"Same to you. Give my regards to Leonard."

"I will." 

She turns and walks away, her unhappiness written all over her back.

 

"You talked to Naaz already?" Leonard asks when he calls with the news, shamelessly abusing his restored admiral's privileges. 

"Yes. Seems she has a suspicion but needs some personal confirmation. She'll contact me soon." 

"Great." 

"She sends you her regards, and doesn't blame you for thinking she might've done it."

"You told her?"

"She guessed."

"Perceptive woman," the doc mutters. 

"Do you think she'll take it personally in the future, if you ever work together again?"

"Hope not. She's a great doctor."

"Was she the one who did the Borg implant surgery?" Chris asks, waving at the back of his head.

"Yes. One of her finest works." The doc eyes him. "How do you feel about it now?"

"It's there. I sometimes…. feel it. But I accept its existence."

"Good." His lover smiles. "Makes you a pretty rare specimen, you know. There're a lot of people who want to write a research paper about you."

Making a face, Chris brushes off the statement. "Over my dead body," he says spontaneously, then winces over his own words. "Sorry, didn't mean it like that."

"But you did, Chris," Leonard says flatly. "You’ve never left any doubt about that." There's a prolonged silence between them.

Feeling guilty, Chris backpedals. "So would it actually help medical science at large if I allowed more research on my case?"

"There have been eleven such surgeries by now. Three recipients reacted badly to the implant and it had to be removed again. They died soon afterwards." 

_Ouch._  
  
"The other cases are all stable. What makes you unique is that you had the worst medical history and were the most critical case to receive one. You survived against all odds. Don't you ever fucking forget that." 

Contrite to the bone, Chris is about to answer when the telltale sound of red alert sounds in the background. The doc sighs heartily. "Got to sign off. Just… ah fuck. Take care, promise me that."

"I'll do, doc." And then the line closes and if there's one thing Chris will never, ever be able to take easily, it's this kind of sudden disconnect when he knows his men to be in danger and he can't do a thing but wait for the outcome. 

The corridor of his floor is deserted when he leaves, glad that he has an appointment with the person who's the best equipped to deal with his relatively morose mood. 

***

Considering that T'Sol is a full Vulcan, she's very accepting that Chris sometimes needs a little time to vent and chat about whatever is on his mind. 

Afterwards he's not sure how he'd gone from red alerts and the frustration of being left behind to Dael's backstory and from there onto some of the details she'd shared about her treatment, something he hadn't felt comfortable doing before his own. He kind of regrets it when T'Sol suddenly leans forward, interrupting his story. 

"K'sh'nin?" she repeats the name of the procedure Dael had spoken about, of course with a much better pronunciation. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "Yes. Why, is it so special?" 

"This is the old name for a procedure called kash-nesh'tor today."

"Meaning what?"

"It literally translates as _Cutting off the Mind_. A serious procedure that is only done when all other interventions fail. Normal emotional responses are subdued."

"Sounds heavy."

"It is." She looks serious. "For that reason, kash-nesh'tor is considered unethical by many healers."

It's not a nice vision to think of Dael having undergone such a fundamental alteration.

"Maybe I misunderstood the word," Chris says uncomfortably. "I've never been good at Vulcan."

"That is a possibility," she replies, but her eyes defy her words. She quickly switches to their actual session, and he's all too happy to push the exchange out of his mind.

***

"Guess I could've permanently moved in here by now," Chris says with a sigh as Dael and he hit the embassy again the same night, this time for a pleasure visit — if there's such thing with Vulcans.

Actually, it's a Vulcan lyre concert and it was Dael's wish to attend. As with such artistic events, it has a serene atmosphere, with quiet Vulcan helpers offering juices and small snacks to the visitors. Chris looks out for T'Sol but she doesn't seem to be attending tonight. 

Dael fits to his side like she's never been anywhere else; dressed in the Vulcan robe she owns, she looks regal and older than usual. Her tattoos uncovered, she has something of the alien goddess appeal that she's gained in some of his visions, and it seems to have an interesting effect not only on him but also on some other attendees, judging from certain gazes, and a few hushed whispers. 

Chris doesn't mind, until one of the attending Romulan ambassadors takes an interest in her. He's very sure that the Romulans have a thick file on Dael, and always fears the potential fallout from her prolonged mission in the Empire. She's just too prominent to stay anonymous forever.

And maybe he just doesn't like to see the tall Romulan woman lean into Dael's space quite so obviously — and he doesn't even know where Romulans stand with same-sex activities, definitely a knowledge gap he needs to fill. Her head lowered, the woman intently listens to something Dael says in Romulan, then laughs — a true laugh, nothing faked at all. With five steps, he draws close, interrupting the scene by taking a position between the two women.

"Ambassador D'Rhiu," he says with a polite nod of his head.

"Admiral Pike," D'Rhiu says, her genuine laughter instantly substituted by a carefully modulated smile. She extends her hand, and he shakes it. 

"I rarely have the pleasure to meet a human who has a sense of humor," D'Rhiu says with a nod towards Dael. "Your partner is quite unique." 

"Thank you, I know," Chris states.

The woman's smile changes, the eyes under upswept brows considering him a little more closely. "It's also rare to meet a human who speaks Romulan almost perfectly. In fact, so perfect that I thought I could recognize a specific accent." 

Chris holds his breath, almost glad that he couldn't betray Dael because he doesn't have a clue where she's been. 

But Dael takes the hint in a stride. "It's the accent spoken near the city of Dartha. Friends of mine came from there."

"I remember," the ambassador says with a little too much emphasis. "The House ch'Retrrln. The father was a very accomplished artist. My family owns some of his early pieces. A pity that his son T'Anihl decided to defect from the Empire."

Dael's brows draw together, but before she finds a good answer, D'Rhiu shifts her focus towards Pike.

"Your colleagues must be pleased to have you back at the Admiralty. After all, you're the mastermind behind the greatest weapon program in Starfleet for over two decades." 

"I always considered Starfleet a peace-keeping armada," Chris says coolly. "And I only had a small part in it."

"The _Pathfinder_ isn't exactly small, is she?" D'Rhiu shows some teeth in a dangerous smile. "Of course, we had our spies on the project long before you had your unfortunate accident. A ship of that power could be a danger for our Empire, but when she set off towards the Jewel Sector, we could at least be sure that we're not your current target."

Chris frowns. The Jewel Sector? Something resonates, something important happened there — something he can't recall right away, try as he might.

"Thank you for this pleasant talk. Now please excuse me, I am needed elsewhere," the ambassador says smoothly, offering him a brief nod while bathing Dael in another genuine smile before moving away through the crowd.

Lost in thinking about the sector information, he barely notes that Dael pulls him aside to ask, "Why does everyone think that you were the main organizer of the weapon program?"

Chris shakes his head. "Well-fabricated half-lies. I was the easy scapegoat."

"But they've made you a hero, not a scapegoat," Dael says. "Why should they?"

"I don't know." He shrugs, suddenly very tired. "Let's go home." 

In the cab, he takes Dael's hand. "Did I dream it or was D'Rhiu hitting on you?"

"Oh, definitely."

"And she knows your file very well."

"I never assumed anything else."

"Did you ever date a Romulan woman?" he asks curiously.

"Not date," Dael says, and looks away. 

Seems it's not a subject she wants to go into, so he just closes his eyes and keeps stroking her fingers. "Love you, sweetheart. Couldn't see all that through without you," he murmurs.

"I know. Love you too," she whispers in his ear, sealing her words with a kiss to his temple as he drifts into brief slumber until they're home. 

***

John's brand-new car neatly fits into the row of shiny, black, braggy pieces of high tech his friend likes to drive. 

It's actually nice to find some things in universe haven't changed, Chris remarks as Dael and he take the back seat. It's very broad and deep, and when they touch the leather-like, obviously sealed cover material, they smirk at each other. 

"Absolutely sex-proof," Eric supplies with a wide grin. "We checked during the test-run."

It's also nice when everyone is on the same kinky page. However, considering that they're already running a tad late for the barbecue at Tom's farm, John dutifully hits the road and doesn't slow down until they stop in front of the main farmhouse.

The second they open the doors, Tom's children, seated on the steps in front of the veranda, run towards them. 

"She seems to be their new favorite," Chris states amused when the two crowd Dael. 

"Where's the captain?" Vince, the older son, asks loudly right during their hug. "He promised he'd bring an _Enterprise_ model that could fly!" Angie, the younger daughter, agrees with underlining nods that make her dark-blond curls fly. 

"The _captain_." John claps Chris' shoulder. "Seems you've gone out of style."

"Yeah, well, admiral is nice, but they think that the really cool job is captain," Tom says a little apologetically when he joins them.

"Couldn't agree more," Chris says as he leans forward and pats Vince's head. He doesn't have any grandfatherly feelings for the two kids, but he's always glad to see them in good health, cheerful and prospering. "The captain is currently on a mission, but he'll be back in two weeks."

John introduces Eric, who'd never met anyone of their chosen family so far. Giving him a long, scrutinizing gaze, the kids seem to find him okay, though they soon go back to Dael, pulling her away and animatedly chattering at her from both sides, conveying the newest school stories. 

"You sure Jim and Leonard will make it in time?" Tom asks curiously as they walk to the back garden.

"I don't even want to think of the alternative," Chris says. "Pulled every string I could, so it should work out. Hello Nat!" He waves at her, and she rushes up from the comfortable bench at the rectangular, already set table. 

"Chris…" She draws him into a heartfelt hug. "It's so good to see you," she says as she releases him, eyes slightly glittering.

"It's good to see you too." He nods and smiles, embracing her once more. 

"Last time I saw you… No, no use in looking back. Just glad you're here and everything’s looking up," Nat says, lacing her arm into his. "So, who's that cutie with John?"

"That's Eric, his live-in partner. And a good friend of ours too."

" _Friend_." Nat repeats with emphasis. "I see." She twinkles. They walk over to them and John, after a peck to Nat's cheek, introduces Eric. 

"Welcome to our barbecue," Nat says, shaking the young man's hand. "Where's Dael, by the way?"

"Abducted by the kids," Tom says. "I guess nothing short of a rescue mission will help her out. That's what you get from being too nice to them." He makes a sidestep, taking a bowl of salad from the hands of his wife Cordelia. Another introduction round follows, and then John, whose only intersection with Tom's wife is the subject of high cuisine, joins her in the kitchen for dessert preparation. 

"Where's Robert?" Chris asks Nat when they gather next to the barbecue with beers in hand, watching Eric and Tom get involved in a — at least for bystanders — amusing discussion of optimal barbecue temperatures and zones. He hasn't seen Nat's husband in ages, and today he'd like to ask the man, who's the owner of a large business group, some questions regarding NN. 

"He couldn't make it in time, but he'll join us later." 

In a distance, Chris can see Dael playing with the kids. Nat catches him looking, saying, "They had a great time here at the family gathering recently, Jim and she. They make a very charming couple once she opens up a little."

"I know," Chris says, unsure where she's going.

"Of course, a lot of people were confused about the relationship between them after seeing her first with you, but Jim and Dael were quite open about it and so most took it in a stride." Nat smiles. "I think some envy you."

"I don't really care for anyone's opinion anymore regarding my relationships," Chris says. At least a lot less than in the past.

"But you still want to marry her. Isn't that a public statement of sorts?"

"The partnership ceremony is primarily for the two of us," he says, turning fully towards her. "Do you have a problem with it?" 

"Not at all," Nat replies instantly. "Dael's good for you, has been right from the start. It's just interesting to see you changing from the man who'd never let anyone in to someone who's got three partners in his life, and possibly a few more around." She nods in Eric's direction. "There've been times when I wished you hadn't started anything with Jim and Leonard — for a long time, it looked more like a hardship that would make you unhappier and lonelier in the long run."

He takes a sip of beer, then says, "There have been times when I would've agreed with you, and if I had stayed alone on Earth, it wouldn't have worked out. But with Dael… it's everything I could've ever hoped for." Chris looks over to the playground where Dael is disengaging from the children with Tom's help, and she waves at him, signaling that she'll join them in a minute. He smiles. 

Nat chuckles, boxing him on the arm. "Oh Chris, you’ve really got it bad. Just one look at her and you positively _glow_."

From the other side, Chris can see Robert drawing close, and he smirks in sweet revenge as Nat's face instantly brightens at the sight of her husband. 

"Glow, yes?" he murmurs, and she blushes a little, shrugging.

"Hello darling," Robert says and kisses Nat, then shakes Chris' hand. 

"Glad to see you, Chris. I heard you're doing better again?"

"Yes, I am, thanks."

After exchanging some pleasantries, Chris manages to pull Robert aside. 

"What do you know about Nuclear Nebular?"

Robert looks at him with a thoughtful gaze. "There have been rumors about a connection between NN and an Orion Syndicate but nothing could ever be proven."

"Do you remember its name?"

"No, sorry, but I can ask a friend of mine who had more information on that. Do you want me to play the middle man…?"

"Yes, please."

Robert nods. "So — I gather you're onto something?"

"We all are, though I'm mostly playing sitting duck to see which hunter's coming after me."

Robert shakes his head. "Well, good luck then. Try not to get killed, please. Your breakdown didn't sit very well with Nat."

"I know," Chris says. 

"And she felt guilty for a long time, for having been on a trip with me instead of being on Earth where she could've supported you."

"I never saw it like that," Chris says startled.

"You did, back then." Robert smiles crookedly. "Sounded damn frustrated in your few communications."

"I wouldn't even have accepted her support, I was much too stuck up in my problems."

"Well, you better try not to repeat that," Robert says. "Let's get something to eat," he then adds and walks away, back to the others. 

Chris follows him, deciding that he'd really need to apologize to Nat in a quiet minute.

***

Standing in front of Chris' desk early Monday morning, Komack says, "I want you to take over the course on advanced strategy." 

Putting away his fresh cup of coffee, Chris straightens in his chair. He isn't surprised — whether Komack wants to ease his return himself, or is motivated by third parties, it won't work. "I really liked stepping in for two lessons, but I can't commit to the whole course."

"Why not?"

"I can't promise I'd see it through. I might have to drop out of teaching at any moment."

"For health reasons?" Komack asks straight ahead.

"For many reasons," Chris replies evasively.

There's a strange, snorting sound coming from Komack, and then the man pulls a chair close and sits down. "There've been rumors going around that there was an attempt on your life." 

"Another attempt," Chris corrects his colleague. "Like the first one less on my life than on my mental health, but yes."

"And that you've only returned to find out who's behind it."

For a moment, Chris considers denying it, but it's actually more in his interest for his motivation to be out in the open, dangerous as it might be. "Yes."

Komack looks at him, running one hand over his bottom lip in thought. "You've changed, Pike."

Chris tilts his head. "Who wouldn't, in my circumstances."

"Do you ever consider that you're really important here in the Admiralty, that there are always too few good men and too many mediocre ones, like in every organization?"

"Not important enough to protect me, obviously," Chris murmurs. 

"So you're pissed at the old man. Fine. Understandable. But Starfleet is more than Nogura, and one day he'll be gone. You're the kind of man we need —"

"The hell I am," Chris sharply interrupts Komack, and gets to his feet. "Did you cook up that speech by yourself, or did someone ask you to soft-soap me? Nice knowing you all think the best of me but too many people didn't. Where were all of you when things went downhill for me?" 

Komacks gets up too. "I can't speak for the others," he states coolly, "but I for one didn't know what went on here. I was busy with the Academy and didn't see a lot of you. Of course I'd heard a thing or two over time, but that mostly had to do with your sex life and I'm really not interested in that. I don't care who you're with or not, and don't see why it's anyone else's business either. So be angry all that you want — not saying you shouldn't — but think beyond that, man. Think of all those kids who'll go out on missions of their own, and we'll be the ones to send them out there. They need good officers to lead the way."

"Not me, anymore," Chris says, and takes a deep breath. 

"Right. I forgot. You've turned into a paper pusher in your old days, not wanting to have anything to do with real _people_ who'll be our future crews." Komack shakes his head. "Well, in that case — good luck with your revenge and please, leave something left of Starfleet when you're done, it's needed more than ever." The man turns on his heel and leaves after what feels like a metaphorical slap to Chris' face.

Curling one hand into a fist, Chris presses it against his lips. Is it so wrong of him to want to _know_ , to think that what happened has implications for the morality of Starfleet and cannot just be ignored? 

He asks Asimov the same thing when the young man arrives an hour later. 

Asimov simply replies, "If Commander Illyon didn't think it is important to find out, I wouldn't be here."

Chris nods, feeling the lump in his stomach easing. "Thanks for your confidence, Lieutenant. I needed to hear that." Switching the subject, he asks, "So — what do we know about the Jewel sector?" The Pathfinder's mission logs are sealed, that much Chris knows already, so they’ll have to work from another angle.

"It was the sector where the _Enterprise_ was attacked by a Borg ship," Asimov offers a moment later, and Chris inhales sharply, straightening in his chair. How could he have ever forgotten that, considering that he had been waiting on Earth for news from the ship while it was lost for three days? If the Romulan Ambassador's information was correct, this might be a very important pointer.

They call up star charts, embarking on their new search direction.

***

Despite being back in their own apartment, Chris and Dael don't mind visiting John and Eric for dinner. Tonight's invitation, though, turns out to be more of a dinner party, as Arissa also attends. After lots of good food and quite a bit of luxurious wine, the party moves to John's bed. 

_Five_. A strange number, Chris thinks as they pile up, then neatly stows the thought away. He's got no place in his new life for wacky number mysticism. 

Some hours later Chris and John hit the kitchen for a midnight snack. It's been one of the most thought-free, 'fleet-free hours of the last weeks, and Chris happily tackles the cheese he finds. 

Life is good.

There's something about John's behavior, though, that makes Chris wonder what his friend might be holding back, so standing next to each other by the kitchen counter, this is his moment to break the question.

"Yes, I've got news," John says with a broad smile, lifting the freshly poured glass of Bordeaux. "I'm going back into space."

"That's great!" Chris toasts with a glass of water. He knows very well how much John hated being shelved on Earth — at least as much as he did. "A new project for Intel? If I may ask."

"Yes. Can't say anything else about it, but it looks like really challenging, interesting work." John sniffs at his glass in which the wine circles the edge, then drinks from it. "Ah, 2221 was truly the best year in this century so far." He licks his lips, then looks at Chris. "I hope we can wrap up your investigation before my departure — if not, there'll be a new lead agent assigned."

Chris nods. "What about Eric?" he asks after a moment of silence. 

"I haven't told him yet," John admits. "It's not like he doesn't know that I’ve been working hard on going back out there…"

"It's still different when it actually happens. Believe a man who's learned that the hard way." Chris reaches out, rubbing John's shoulder.

John tilts his head into the touch with a small sigh. "I thought about asking him to come with me, but now that his own Intel career has finally launched, he'd be stupid to make a step back to playing my assistant."

Chris had never been explicitly told that Eric was working for that organization too, but he's not surprised. "Ask him anyway. This way you give him the choice that he deserves."

"Yes." John takes another sip from the glass, savoring the taste. "You know, I understand your position regarding Dael a lot better now, about not wanting to get in the way of her growth. Though I still can't imagine you settling down on Earth with her. Don't you miss space anymore?"

"Not really," Chris replies after a moment of soul-searching. "I like what I have now. I think I was mostly tied to what space as an idea meant to me in the past, not to the actual space out there."

"Good for you." John gives him a friendly pat. "Now we only have to get those bastards that tried to set you up, then all will be fine in paradise."

"Yes." 

They share the leftover cheese between them, then walk back to the bedroom where Arissa is laid out between Eric and Dael. The youngsters have their heads on her bosom, while the woman's arms are protectively curled around both in a double embrace. "The goddess and her admirers," John quips. "And taking up most the bed too." 

Chris chuckles. Good to know he's not the only one with an occasional moment of jealousy when it comes to Arissa. "We can always take the couch."

"The hell I will," John mutters, and bends down to shove Eric rather unkindly, waking up all three sleepers and forcing them to move over to the other side of the bed. Then John motions Chris to get in before slipping under the blanket after him, spooning him. 

"You're such an inconsiderate bastard," Chris says amused.

"My bed, my rules." John reaches over to pull Chris into a kiss. "Good night, lover."

"Good night." On Chris' other side, Eric goes back to snoring lightly, and Chris reaches over him to put one hand on Dael. He's happily surprised when she takes it and squeezes, falling asleep a second later too.

***

Chris has almost forgotten about the medical angle when Naaz Anumanchi calls him in his office the next afternoon, asking to meet him for a coffee. They meet outside of the 'fleet area in a large, anonymous restaurant that is mostly empty at this time of the day. 

"I don't even know where to start," she says, whirling her spoon in the cup, sugar crunching beneath the metal.

"At our last meeting, you seemed to have had an idea right away who the person behind sharing my medical files might have been," he supplies helpfully.

"Yes. Unfortunately, yes."

"Who was it?"

"Lorne Eckholl, one of my assistants. I only thought he was over-motivated when I found him studying your medical file back then. He'd always been an almost obsessive student of our cases."

"Why do you think he's the one?"

"It was mostly a gut feeling. But I asked him, and he admitted it."

"You asked him?" Chris says sharply.

"Well, it was at the last possible moment — he died last night." She shakes her head. "Not what you might think — he had an aggressive lung cancer diagnosed a month ago, possibly caused by a lab accident he was in four years ago. People are still dying of natural causes, you know," she adds a little sharply. "Not everyone's a conspiracy victim."

Chris doesn't know what to say as his protective shields snap up, glazing the world with washed-out flatness.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Naaz says a second later, but her apology feels insincere. 

"So the man is dead," Chris repeats after a long moment of silence. "Did you ask him about the details? For whom he got the information, and why?"

Naaz looks uncomfortable. "Obviously a superior asked for it, and he gave it thinking it was standard procedure.

"Which superior?"

She shakes her head. "He didn't tell."

How many 'superiors' would there be in Starfleet Medical? The only helpful fact is that once again the trace points towards the higher ranks but that only confirms Chris' suspicion without giving them anything tangible to work with.

"You know," he says roughly as he gets up, "maybe sometimes you should think more of protecting the living than the dead." His words are as stupid and uncalled for as hers were, but he's really angry, the feeling still intense even as her face zooms away into the distance. Not quite sure where he steps, he tumbles over a chair but ignores the pain as he rushes out of the room. 

"Am I just crazy?" Chris asks T'Sol in frustration when she meets him for an emergency session. Rubbing his eyes, he's relieved when the room reflects almost the normal color spectrum.

"Humans tend to hold on to their belief system. Even if the belief system has proven to be wrong." The Vulcan arranges her robe, a gesture Chris has learned to interpret as her pondering whether he's ready for a more challenging remark.

"Viewing your behavior from an outside perspective, how you would interpret it?" T'Sol asks, looking at him. 

Chris closes his eyes and listens inside, then changes perspective the way he's learned to do. 

"More anger. More _me-against-the-world_ feeling. Again," he adds a little frustrated. After all, this was the unhelpful emotion with which he'd created his own personal hell before his breakdown, and returning to the same pattern is an absolute no-go. 

"And how would you change that?" she asks.

Vulcans love the question-and-answer game, something that makes Chris feel like a handicapped student at times, when he doesn't have the answer right away. 

"I need to remember that we all have our subjective realities. That there's nothing… fixed." He sighs. "An old friend said to me lately that it almost looks as if there had been two projects instead of one — mine on Earth that turned destructive for me, and another on her side, without major problems. What made my side so different? Just my take on it?"

"You know the answer," T'Sol states solemnly. "Maybe you cannot yet formulate it, but deep in your subconscious, you know the truth."

She'd said that before, but what good did it do when he still doesn't have a hold on it? The way she speaks, she might as well read his mind and tell him. But once when he'd suggested that, she'd evaded by stating that contrary to common conception, melding with a human didn't necessarily allow a Vulcan to gather the human's hidden beliefs.

At first Chris thought it was a lame excuse, but after giving some consideration to her situation, he accepted that she's entitled to her own protection. Besides, she's too important to him — if he tried pushing the subject, she'd possibly stop his treatment, and that could lead to total disaster. There's just nobody else on Earth he could work with. 

T'Sol raises her voice, tearing him out of his thoughts and giving him some helpful tips, and Chris straightens on his seat, committing every single one of her words to memory to think about later.

***

 _Need to see you. 2000, garage of your apartment building_ , a message says on his comm that evening, and for a moment Chris can't figure out how and by who it may have been sent, as no number is displayed. 

Then he notes a tiny graphic attached, so small it looks more like dirt on the screen, and he remembers that tag. The man behind the message, Antoine Cherbonau, was a member of Chris' scientist team working on the Borg analysis. Cherbonau had always given Chris a strange feeling, but as the man is an outstanding specialist in nanotechnology, he'd kept him on the team anyway. To this day, Chris isn't sure of the man's agenda, and receiving such a message only amplifies his original impression.

"You're not going to see him alone," Dael states instantly when he shows her the message. 

"I don't intend to," he answers. "I got a bit cleverer, remember?"

Her expression is less believing than he would like to see.

At 1920, they're down in the garage, waiting for the man to appear. Standing in the half-shadows of the cool place, Chris feels like they're in a spy movie, and says so to Dael.

"Well — it's what spies do," she says, pulling her jacket closer to her body.

He quietly shakes his head, looking around. The garage is secured and private, and shouldn't be easy to enter. 

Like the resourceful man Chris had assumed him to be, Cherbonau nevertheless shows up at 2000 exactly. The man is a bit shorter and older than Chris, with already bright white hair that hangs loosely at shoulder length. In each of their few in-person meetings, the man's sharp, pitch-black eyes had given Chris a shiver, and it's no different tonight. 

Cherbonau walks to them, giving Dael only a passing glance before addressing Chris without introduction. "You're looking the wrong way."

"Am I?" Chris says.

"Oh, I'm sure everyone who's doing business with Nuclear Nebula gets their hands dirty, but that's not what you're looking for, is it?" Cherbonau says, a faint smile on his lips. 

"Here, have this for your household." The man shoves a cup into Chris' hand. "Never should have to live without your precious coffee. Enjoy your evening." Cherbonau turns and leaves.

"Did I mention _bad spy movie_?" Chris says to Dael, annoyed and not trying to keep his voice low. He turns the cup in his fingers. There's a logo on it which seems faintly familiar.

"Well, let's get up to the apartment and have a closer look," Dael says reasonably. 

 

The logo, it turns out, belongs to a company called Galaxy Solutions, or GalaxSol on their product label, and they specialize in terraforming equipment, enormous high-pressure canons that are able to shoot nanoprobes and biochemical agents into earth, stone, and ice. Other than that, barely any details about GalaxSol are available.

The cup, they find, carries a name — Andrew Banh. Just like with the company, there's barely any information available on the man, but he seems to be an engineer. His one available publication deals with refitting torpedoes for use in agricultural cultivation, a research project sponsored by a smaller Federation world four years ago. _Turning weapons into agents of peace_ , the headline says. 

"So… terraforming?" Dael wonders.

"We need more information here." Chris has a sudden suspicion but he doesn't want to mislead his friends without first making sure that this Andrew Banh really works or has worked for GalaxSol, and might have something to do with a certain torpedo refit. Going over the little data they have on GalaxSol, Chris suddenly notes the name of its parent company. "And I know where I can get it from."

***

The next day is relatively uneventful, spent with research and a late lunch with Commodore Decker, who explicitly invited him to his office. Apparently, Decker will be given another command soon, and the man wanted to get Chris’ professional opinion regarding some of the newer ships. It's one of those eerily normal lunch talks he'd enjoyed before the breakdown, and which today he can't help analyzing and questioning, every minute during the talk and then for the next hour, looking for loopholes and traps. 

It's still a long way to more normal interaction with his colleagues, Chris ponders moodily on his way home, and that he isn't even sure whether he wants to return to that state doesn't help things.

When Chris walks into the apartment, Dael is standing in the kitchen in nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts, a pot of something exotic-smelling in front of her. Animatedly talking into an earpiece-mic unit, she underlines every word with wide sweeps of her hands — with color-stained fingers, Chris notes with a little surprise. A second later, he realizes that she's speaking Romulan. 

When she notices him, she smiles and gestures at the mic, her lips forming a soundless answer.

 _Nicolai._  
  
She is talking with Nicolai Asimov. A long-quieted feeling of jealousy makes itself known, and Chris inspects the feeling for a moment, choosing how to react to it.

Then he makes a decision. Walking forward, he joins her at the stove, pressing her against it with his whole, uniform-clad body. 

"Tell him you're occupied," he whispers into her free ear. Her gaze shifts from surprise to elation in just a microsecond, and she hastily says a few words, while his hands start already slipping under the tee, running up her soft skin.

After recently having told her what exactly his problem with women is, the problem — no surprise — may have become less important. At least unimportant enough to allow for a little scene here, where he might use the usually unproductive emotion of jealousy for something good. Nipping at her earlobe, he strokes more purposefully down her groin, one finger teasing her clit. Her voice turns tense, and she ends the call rather abruptly, half-throwing the earpiece down next to the stove.

"What are you up to?" she asks.

"Hmm, dirty things in the kitchen." Without ado he pulls the tee over her head, then caresses down her back. She obediently tilts forward as he presses against her shoulder blades, perking up at the small sound of his zipper. Taking nothing out but his erection, he gives it a minute to grow in his fingers, the thumb of his left hand teasing Dael's ass. 

"Give me the oil," he orders, immediately getting handed the bottle of cold-pressed premium olive oil that was standing within her reach. No need for protection here — right now, he has no intention to switch between her holes. He solely wants her boyish ass, without condoms or any fancily fragranced lube bullshit. Dribbling some oil onto his erection he massages it with his right, but leaves his left hand clean. 

"You're ready?" he asks as he nudges his slippery glans against her dry, puckered hole. She nods, and he slowly pushes in.

Damn, he had forgotten how sensitive a fuck feels to his cock without any layers. Dael's had enough experience with anal sex to comfortably welcome him, but the tiny edge of his quick entry is delicious… at least to him, he concedes. Her sounds leave little doubt, though, that she's enjoying the scene a lot too. Every time he shoves in, he makes her feel that he's still dressed in his admiral's uniform, the fabric and the zipper scratching along her skin. His left hand strongly grips her hip, keeping her optimally placed for his pleasure. He's doing it hard and fast and without showing any intention of dealing with her arousal, and that's exactly what feeds it. Her rolling movements, her needy whimpers are all the answer he needs to feel good with this scene. 

When he comes, he jerks into her in harsh, impulsive shoves until the climax subsides. Leaning forward over her, he catches his breath for a moment, then slips out, leaving a wet trail on her skin. A nearby towel catches his gaze, and he takes it to first clean his deflating organ, then to swipe it between her cheeks, eliciting a sweet whimper from his beautiful, despoiled victim. 

He noisily closes the zipper. "Come with me," he orders, and directs her into the bathroom, where he makes her stand face to the wall, hands high on the tiles, legs slightly spread. She's quivering in arousal, her eyes closed but her lips slightly open. 

He makes her wait five minutes, which he spends on hasty undressing, then returns to her. The water is warm, and after a first shudder, she realizes that he's just cleaning her gently, slowly easing the tension of the scene out of them both. He also scrubs the colors off every single of her fingers but doesn't ask her about them, that can wait.

Afterwards, he puts her onto the couch and licks her to orgasm on his knees, because he needs to do that for his personal balance and conscience. The scene lingers, though, as for once she doesn’t hold onto his head; instead she reclines on the couch in a more passive position, her hands stretched out to the sides as if pulled by invisible ropes. When she comes, she does so with an arch of her body but very little noise, the climax long and drawn-out and strange, and he rides it out with her until she sags back onto the couch.

Putting kisses all over her groin, he's caught in happy bliss. "You're gorgeous," he whispers. "Love you so much."

"Love you too. Thank you." They cling to each other and he rests his forehead on her belly, licking along his favorite patterns of her tattoos, tracing them with his tongue. Her hands encouragingly caress through his hair.

"Sometimes, when I look at you," Dael says all of a sudden, "I see them on you."

The idea catches him by surprise, and he pauses in his ministrations, running his thumbs along the dark lines. In the past he would've been shocked by the suggestion, but today… "Would you like it? See some of your patterns on me?" He glances up at her, meeting her gaze. "Mark me as yours?"

Her breath hitches suspiciously, and he tightens his grip on her hip, running his nose from her navel upwards. "Where would you put them?"

"Your groin… I'd touch them when I suck you off. Only few would ever get to see them… sorry, it's a strange idea."

"Maybe, but I love it," he says, and it's so true, he can barely fathom how elated he feels about it. Somehow, it's always been him calling the shots; he'd asked her to move in, had pushed her into changing her personal 'fleet entry and buying the rings before her mission, and had been the one to bring up the partnership ceremony. Maybe he had never stopped wondering, despite everyone's opinion, if she really felt as much need for him as he felt for her. Having her asking for this brings balance and a surprisingly sweet peace of mind for him.

And they're _her_ patterns, not Nero's anymore. Haven't been that bastard's for a long time.

"Let's do it," he says.

"You can't do that right now." 

Moving upwards, he slips onto the couch next to her and takes her into an embrace. "You thought about it for quite a while, didn't you?" He brushes her heated cheek with his hand, watching how she avoids his gaze for a moment before nodding. 

"Didn't we get an invitation to one of Arissa's parties tonight that's combined with a little tattoo convention?"

"Yes, we did — but really, you shouldn't do it on a whim."

"I want to do it," he states. "No use in waiting. I'm not going to change my mind. Unless you wouldn't want to have the ceremony anymore."

"Silly," she says with a frown. "As if." 

"See? Same here." His fingertips glide over her forehead pattern. "Come on, dress up and go with me."

One of her eyebrows hikes up disapprovingly over his almost-order (and he's actually relieved about that, it means they're back to _normal_ ), but she still comes with him. 

***

When they reach the festivities in a large warehouse, the atmosphere is great, the people all easy with each other. Once again it's this self-chosen family vibe that Chris has grown to enjoy, beyond the small circle of a twosome or even his foursome relationship. It's strange to think that he'd been that much in the closet for all those years, when he could always have had this kind of event to attend, where passers-by give them friendly smiles and cheerful sellers pull out kinky toys, delighting in offering lengthy, very explicit advice on their best use. Many look appreciatingly at Dael's tattoos, visibly interested and curious. 

He has a goal, though.

"How about that guy?" he asks, waving at the nearest tattooist booth which is a medium-sized tent. "Antony?"

"I know him, he's really good. But I still don't think —"

"But I do."

He takes a firm step into the through the entry — and then comes to a freezing stop once he's actually _inside_ the parlor. Shots and drawings of tattoos leap at him from every corner, and while most of them don't look anything like Nero's, their intensity and number steal his breath anyway.

"Hey," Dael says softly. "You really don't have to do this just to prove something to me. We can do it another time, by another artist." 

Chris closes his eyes, steadying himself for a moment before looking back at her. "I want this," he says, and shoves everything but her aside. Seeing just Dael, her face, her eyes, her lines. "I really, really want this."

The actual tattooing happens in a blur, the tattoo artist nothing but a foggy face. When Chris resurfaces from his strange trance, the man is gone and they're alone in the back room. 

"Do you want to see it?" Dael asks, a mirror in her hand.

"It's done?" he asks roughly. He can't remember a thing, and the sudden fear of having overtaxed himself with a challenge his new-found peace couldn't bear takes a hold on him.

"Christopher — look at it," she says firmly, and holds the mirror in front of his lower body. 

He eyes the angular pattern that adorns his groin, starting small at the base of his dick and widening up to the height of his navel, and at first they look perfect — but then he notices that they're not. There are deviations, slight changes to the tattoos he knows and adores. He'd been warned that a perfect copy is hard to do, but this is quite a change.

Before he can complain, Dael's bright smile stops him. "I changed it — I always thought it could be improved. So, this is from me, to you." Putting the mirror aside, she places a kiss on the inking.

"Oh, darling," he moans as her touch turns the tension of the afternoon into burning arousal within an instant. 

Not wanting to make a scene in the parlor, they decide to move on to Arissa's party right away. They're much too early, but upon recognizing Dael, the doorkeeper instantly lets them in. 

"Hey, so early, sweethearts?" Arissa calls out for them when they pass the kitchen where the buffet preparations are in full gear.

"Yes. We'll take the blue room, okay?" Dael calls back from the corridor, smiling at Chris. "Got to take care of a certain need. See you later!"

"Have fun," is Arissa's laconic comment.

Dael leads him through the complicated inner workings of the house until they arrive at what must be the blue room. It's rather cozy, with a large bed with protective sheets, towels, lubes and anything else they might need already prepared on a nightstand. Just perfect for what they need.

They quickly strip and with a sigh, he sinks down on the mattress, a weird mixture of elation and emotional and physical exhaustion running through him. He doesn't have strong synesthestic moments anymore since T'Sol's intervention, but it almost feels like one, the room brightly filled with love and sexual energy.

Dael must feel the same, because she quickly climbs up, her hand on his erection, her tongue in his mouth. Then she moves down, away from him. He's so damn turned on he wants her to ride him right away, but she quiets for a moment, running her hands adoringly over his groin and genitals. 

"It's even more beautiful than I imagined," she mutters and leans over to put kisses on the new art, christening each line. Her hands stimulate him, not that he really needs it, and he bucks into her grip with a needy whimper. "Please…" He tugs at her shoulders and is grateful when she moves upwards at last, sitting down on him and riding him with verve. He feels like melting into her, as if his hands on her body, on her beautiful patterns, could merge them together for eternity.

A last earth-bound thought about chafing crosses his mind before all of him shifts to automatic. 

He can only hope the fresh tattoo doesn't get damaged. 

***

"A Romulan tattoo?" John asks on the next day when they meet for an early breakfast in a small bar near the 'fleet grounds, where the cappucchino is strong and the cake tasty. "I need to see that."

"Well, so far everyone likes it," Chris says, putting a palm into his lap and smiling in memories. Arissa had been extremely approving of it — not that he needs her feedback, but in a strange way, he feels like an initiate of the cult of queerness in this city at last, with his first ever body art. A true part of the whole strange scene, instead of pretending to be more of an accidental bystander.

"And it isn't a Romulan tattoo, it's an almost- copy of one of Dael's tattoos."

Unsurprisingly, John pushes until they end in the men's restroom, where Chris lowers his pants to allow his friend an examination up close.

"Hmm, okay." John licks his lips and grins when he gets up from his crouched position. "Definitely gives you more character."

"Tsk." Chris pulls up his pants and closes the zipper.

"So, do you want to come over tonight for a little celebration?" John asks. 

"Sorry, we're quite wiped from yesterday, but tomorrow, it might be fine. I'll give you a call."

"Good." John nods. "So I'll leave you to your quest."

 

The quest takes him from the breakfast straight to an office building around the corner from the Starfleet area. It takes him ten minutes to make his cause with the harpy guarding the entry — literally a harpy, they're an interesting and rare species on Earth, and while Chris waits for entry he can't help staring at the brightly colored wings of the male — possibly, it's hard to tell with harpies. 

"Chris — what an unexpected visitor," Robert, Nat's husband says when he's at last delivered to the spacious office. They shake hands.

"I've got a new angle, about which I'd like to have your input," Chris says, taking a seat. "What do you know about a company called Galaxy Solutions, or GalaxSol?"

The other man's face freezes a little. Leaning back in his chair, Robert ponders the answer for a moment, saying at last, "I assume you know that this company belongs to my holding."

"Yes," Chris says.

"Which doesn't really mean that I've got any real insight into their business, aside from anything you could find yourself via official channels."

Chris smiles a little. "I know. But I also know that getting a deeper insight only costs you a call or two."

Robert tilts his head, his expression not yet disclosing whether he'd do that for Chris. "What do you want to know?" 

"I only want a confirmation one way or the other whether a man called Andrew Banh participated in a project with GalaxSol over the last two years, that dealt with a torpedo refit."

"That's all?" Robert asks with a light frown. 

"Well, I'll take more if you share, but that's the core information I need." Chris has intentionally kept his demand very small; it would make Robert more willing to answer his first question, and possibly more inclined to deliver further information of his own free will. 

Robert shakes his head a little. "I know your game, Chris." He taps on the desk with his forefinger. "Fine. I'll see what I can do." 

"Thank you," Chris says sincerely. "Give my best to Nat."

"Thank me by being careful," Robert says darkly as he gestures him out. The door closes with a firm thud. 

Satisfied with the morning so far, Chris walks over to the Admiralty, where Asimov is waiting with a hot coffee and a confirmation from Illyon that Kirk and McCoy would make it to their partnership ceremony in time. 

***

In the late afternoon, after a busy lunch and two meetings with colleagues — just about everyone suddenly seems eager to involve him in upcoming decisions — Chris strongly feels the exhaustion of being in the game again, of too much need to watch his protection mechanisms that have a tendency to sneakily self-fortify to the point that he walks around in a world of paper models. 

Their research also seems to have hit a wall; aside from the new angle with Andrew Banh, he still doesn't feel really close to a solution for the underlying motivations. Every idea Chris plays with has someone in the wrong role — if he thought of it as a play on stage, a method Arissa had recommended to him.

T'Sol quietly listens to his ranting, until he leans back exhausted. If she were human, he's sure she would be smiling about him. 

Thankfully, she isn't, and says instead, "Humans have a tendency to complicate things. Instead of accepting that not everything in life follows a cause-effect pattern, they like to claim reason and logic to explain events that are neither connected or related."

Chris looks at her, jaw dropping, before rushing home where he gets an honest-to-god piece of paper from Dael and a blue pen, and settles on his favorite couch. 

Recently, he'd watched the speech to the active 'fleet captains and commanders that Nogura had given after Shaa's resignation, delivering an unusually open apology to the recipients. Despite the emotional challenge even the man's voice still presents for Chris, he'd been strangely touched by the words.

 _"Since then I have been reminded that loyalty can be a vice if the organization is no longer on a good path, deviating from its original goal, the rules and vision that unite us all. In that event, it is loyalty to the cause that is important, and you all adhered to that. I stand corrected and promise you that in the future, every one of my decisions will be weighed against this loyalty."_  
  
Either Nogura had lied through his teeth on that day, or he'd meant every word. 

Either Nogura betrayed Starfleet… or he didn't. 

Either Nogura betrayed Chris… or he didn't. 

Maybe he's looking at two different things here. He writes down the names.

 _McAllister --- Nogura_  
  
McAllister's motivation had always been personal gain; the man was obsessed with his potential career and the position he'd wanted to inherit from Chris. He was a very effective antagonist, with obviously powerful connections, energy and terribly good timing, flanked by Esteban's prejudiced and small-minded thinking. But he wouldn't have had much effect if Chris hadn't repeatedly acted against his own best interests. 

Nogura, on the other hand… despite being at the top of the 'fleet, Chris grants the man is at least as idealistic about the 'fleet as he'd ever been himself. Nogura's activities, even those one could criticize, had never been about personal gain, not even when Shaa's absolutist idea of command had poisoned Nogura's thinking. The old man's first and foremost motivation has always been to make Starfleet the best possible organization. It was one of the cornerstones of their originally great working relationship — their joint dedication for the cause.

So whatever decisions Nogura might've made, they'd always have been in the best interest of the fleet.

Once Chris takes this approach, things fall into place. If he wanted to lay fault on anyone, he'd have to carry a large share of it. For example, he'd known that Nogura hated to see anyone of the higher ranks in the media tabloids, and Chris had frequently ended up there over the last months, his private life anything but private. Of course Nogura is unusually old-fashioned in that regard, but it doesn't matter — it's how the man _is_. 

Chris had run roughshod over every established rule Nogura had lived by, and then was surprised when Nogura was hurt by his behavior?

He must have been incredibly dense back then, Chris thinks in frustration. Even with the drugging going on, he knows that it's too thin an excuse; he'd really brought a lot of the trouble onto himself. 

So maybe Nogura really hadn't known about McAllister's plans. Maybe John is right and Nogura had intended to divulge his plans to Chris before pulling back in frustration. The old man had given him the Borg task force in the belief that Chris would do a good job. Officially he had, but maybe not quite in the way Nogura wanted….

If Nogura wanted to get rid of him, he'd also have found ways that wouldn't involve radiation devices in his apartment, that much Chris is sure of.

His communicator goes off. He takes it rather absent-mindedly, only focusing on it when he recognizes T'Sol's voice. 

"Are you well?" she asks. 

"Uh, yes? Just thinking a lot." He frowns. "Do you feel my emotions?"

There's a brief silence, before she concedes, "It is known to be a rare side effect."

She's eaves-dropping on his thoughts? He blushes when thinking about his various activities with Dael, John and Eric over the last two weeks. Poor Vulcan, this must be a whole lot of Too Much Information.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know that you dislike being confronted with human sexuality, I never wanted to force it on you."

"That is not quite correct. I prefer not to be the target of the personal focus of human males, as I do not wish to start a relationship with any of them. Following your activities, however, is - " she makes a pregnant pause — "instructional ". 

"Instructional," he repeats dumbly. There's a small sound, and he looks up from floor to find Dael in the door, looking annoyingly amused. "Well, if you have any questions, feel free to ask."

"I will, Christopher," T'Sol states, as usually ignoring his attempts to get her to use his abbreviated first name. 

"Is there anything we can do to reduce this side effect?" he asks. 

"It is nothing to be concerned about, it will pass over time. We will see each other in two days. May you rest well until then." The line closes.

"Did you know that?" Chris asks Dael, who's shaking with barely controlled giggles.

"No, but it's so typical for Vulcans. They're the most curious race in the whole galaxy." A good explanation, but not necessarily enough. 

He looks at her with a frown. "You know, I never really asked how you know her."

Dael lifts her hands in defense. "I didn't, I swear. I researched the resident Vulcans a while ago, looking for practitioners of the school of Sh'stolon, and she turned up."

"And how did you manage to convince her to take me on as a patient?" Suddenly suspicious, he crowds her against the wall, flat hands to the right and left of her shoulders. Unfazed, she keeps grinning at him. 

"It's possible I piqued her curiosity."

"How?"

"By hinting at your deviant sexual interests. Even if they never admit it, Vulcans are fascinated by Earth-based BDSM. It has so many similarities to Pon Farr, sex and pain, dominance and submission…"

"You didn't," he says blankly.

"I also mentioned that you're very gay and not sexually interested in her. After that, she was quite eager to meet such an interesting case for research."

 _You've got the choice_ , T'Sol's voice resonates in the back of his head. He can either become angry now… or he can laugh about it.

With effort, he settles for the second option.

"You're crazy." He leans forward, burying his head against her neck. "Absolutely crazy."

Slim fingers pet him. "But she was a good choice, right?"

"Yes," he agrees muffled.

"You realize that any fertile female Vulcan who isn't currently on New Vulcan to procreate is an illogical, _deviant_ being in the eyes of her fellow Vulcans? I'm sure she's getting a lot of shit for staying here, with obviously no intention of bonding."

Giving it a thought, he nods. The idea of T'Sol being an outsider too definitely relaxes him. "You think she's interested in women?"

"There were two main philosophical schools regarding bonding practices; one mostly looked on mental compatibility regardless of sex, the other mostly on procreation," Dael says. "I don't know which school she belongs to, but guess which one is winning right now."

"Well, it's been the same after every war on Earth — it's a biological imperative for a species to fill the gaps."

With a frown, she shakes her head. "Everyone's allowed personal choice."

"Not disputing that, just stating facts." He rubs his nose against her throat. "So, care to give our resident Vulcan a bit more to feel?" Pressing his groin against her body, he lets her feel his growing erection. "Might even add a little perversion, just for good measure." 

Dael moves, pulling a bottle out of her front pocket. "Oh, now that you mention it, Arissa sends this with best wishes." 

"Vanilla lube." He sighs. "I'm surrounded by crazy mind readers." Trusting his strength enough to sweep Dael off her feet, literally, he carries her to the bedroom. 

Afterwards, he's wiped out enough to give his current theories no further thought, but when he wakes up, he instantly reorganizes his plans.

***

The final proof arrives that the technology of the dredger torpedo, underneath the shining Borg-style surface, is a lot older than expected. In essence, it's a copy of a series that went out of production eight years ago.

And it was reworked in a facility of GalaxSol on Moon Base Four, by a team of one Andrew Banh — information courtesy of Robert. A torpedo that had never been built for a normal attack, but for another task which Chris can't prove yet, but he will be able to soon, with or without Robert's help.

Chris saves the core results of the torpedo research unlocked in his corner of the file system. Let this be his personal honey-pot. By now he really wants to bring the people behind this out of the dark, and either he's right and it will be Nogura, or he's completely wrong, in which case this might get really uncomfortable. For this reason, he sends Asimov back to Illyon's team for good; he's too fond of both to risk them. 

The day goes by with nothing happening, and it drives him a little crazy. He's sure _they_ know what he knows by now, and suddenly he can't shake the feeling that much of the information was so easy to get by that it might well have been their honey-pot equivalent, solely prepared for him. 

So what are they waiting for now?

***

Most sessions with T'Sol go well, his state more and more stable (and he really doesn't want to think about the low-level linking effect). She demands — nicely but strictly — that he always focus on the positive aspects of each challenging moment, coaching him to steer himself away from the useless ponderings that trapped him in the past.

The greatest challenges, though, always come when he expects them the least. Like today, when they're out in the garden after their session, T'Sol at his side, insisting on accompanying him to the main gate of the Embassy. 

"There is something I wanted to speak with you about," she says, and there's a gravity in her posture that makes him straighten up in foreboding. "It is about Dael."

"Dael," he repeats, momentary relief that it's not about him instantly dispelled by new concern. "What is it?"

"As you know, I was working at the therapy center on New Vulcan at the same time as she lived there, but I never directly worked with her."

"And?"

"Her case was discussed between the therapists but possibly not on the level of detail it would have deserved."

Seems he's a little thick today, because Chris doesn't get what she's talking about. "Maybe it wasn't that important?"

"But it was," T'Sol says. "Lately, you told me about the conversation she had with you. It made me inquire about her treatment." She looks a little pained all of a sudden. "It is possible that her therapist took measures that might not have been in Dael's best interest." 

In growing frustration, Chris sighs. "What the hell do you want to tell me?" he asks directly.

"Sir — if she has really undergone kash-nesh'tor, she is unfit for command."

Chris freezes in his step, turning to look at her in shocked disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"According to Starfleet statutes, humans who have undergone kash-nesh'tor are considered unfit for duty. They cannot serve on non-Vulcan vessels. "

With suddenly weak knees, he blindly reaches out for a nearby bench, sitting down heavily. "Dael is in her third year of command track at the Academy. How could that be if this is the case?"

T'Sol takes a seat next to him. "Possibly that detail was not entered properly or not checked by the people who favored her having a career in Starfleet. However, kash-nesh'tor was put on the list of treatments detrimental to serving, paragraph 323.b, after a Lieutenant Mark Tennison killed three fellow crewmen in a schizophrenic attack in 2243." 

"They added it based on a single case?"

"Only very few humans have ever undergone that treatment. They had no statistical data base but considered that to be safer." T'Sol looks thoughtful. "I assume this ruling could be challenged. Unfortunately, most of our healers with experience in this particular field died in the Vanishing, so success is unsure."

Chris mutely shakes his head; he remembers a few cases where people had challenged such regulations, but it's a long, complicated process with a low chance of success even for clearer cases. 

"What will you do now?" he asks brokenly.

"Your information was confidential, as was mine," T'Sol says. "I will not act upon it."

Which leaves him to decide what to do with that piece of knowledge. He has no doubt that Dael doesn't know the truth. It's probable that nobody in the 'fleet recruitment offices cared to question some rare Vulcan mind technique in the depths of her medical file when higher ranks pushed to get her into the Academy. 

Seeing that he's a little out of it, T'Sol calls the Embassy's driver who delivers him home, watching over him until Chris closes the main door. He rides up in the lift as if in a dream, only noticing his surroundings when he's in the kitchen door of his apartment, Dael looking at him in concern.

"You okay?" she asks, her tattoos shifting into a concerned frown. 

"Yes, I'm fine," he manages. "Just tired. I'll take a little time-out, okay?"

She comes with him to the bedroom, helping him out of his clothes. She fantastic. She's dedicated and thoughtful and would always try her best to protect those in her care. Over time, she would have made a great officer — he's got no doubt about that.

"Sleep well," she says with her hands on his face, kissing him softly before slipping out of the room. 

He curls to one side, feeling as sad as when he'd seen that photograph of her last painting before her life had fallen apart and had left her with so little. She doesn't deserve to have her career stolen from her again by a regulation issued based on only one case. Telling her the truth would make her choices easier but would surely be a major blow to her new level of self-esteem. He likes the Dael she's developed into — he'd do a lot to keep that blow away from her.

Making a decision, he uncurls, straightening onto his back. For now, he'd keep quiet about it. There's no need to act on his knowledge right away, not when she's still undecided about the Academy. 

If she chose to return to the Academy… well, then he could always consider the new situation. 

The weight on his chest slightly diminished, he rolls to the other side, buries his face in the pillow and tries to sleep.

***

They finally get him when he least expects it, abducting him at phaser point on this very early Sunday morning when he'd only wanted to collect a forgotten PADD from his office. He'd left Dael asleep at home with nothing but a short note about where he'd gone, and thoroughly regrets this now.

The regret deepens when the leader of the three-man-team pushes a device onto the inside of his lower left arm, disabling the medical tracking device that also serves as his tracker for Intel; while that would instantly raise an alert, nobody would be able to find him quickly. They force him through the quiet corridors, and the security cams seem to be dead, the security grid of the building not working along the route they're taking. Another manipulation by higher ranks, obviously.

As ordered he takes a seat in the back of a large car, flanked by two of the men, the windows opaque. The ride takes a long time — they must be well outside the city when he's let out in an underground garage and brought to a turbolift, his two watchdogs still with him. Three floors higher, he finally seems to have reached his destination.

It's a small theater, a few figures hiding in the deep shadows. Only one man sits in the low light next to the door, and waves to him.

"Sit down," Nogura says quietly. 

There's a film running on the wide screen, obviously taken by a hand-held camera, and in contrast to every vision he'd had about their reunion, Chris' curiosity wins out over his anger. He sits down, a seat apart from the old man, and watches the film. It must have been taken inside a Borg cube, all rectangular and mechanistic, lifeless.

Even more lifeless than he'd first thought, as the camera locates a Borg. The male stands, head bowed, motionless an in an alcove that emits no light, no radiation according to the recording notes on the lower right.

Dead… this Borg, and every other Borg the camera finds. A floating sarcophagus in space. 

"It's not just that cube," Nogura says calmly. "It's all of them."

"You're positive?" 

"Yes, our scientists managed to locate their main network four days ago, and it's silent. All gone."

"How?"

"We used a kind of computer virus that attacked a sub-routine that had to do with recharging. They didn't notice — deactivation came in their sleep." Nogura turns his head, looking at him. "It worked much like you'd proposed in your reports, based on the analyses of Esteban's first exploration and the results of your scientific advisors. It was your concepts the virus was based on. I wanted to tell you, but…"

"Let me guess — my change in opinion when you demonstrated the new weapons." There's a faint tremor in his voice, and Chris feels his automatic protection rising. 

"You were right — if we had gone official with this, we would've opened the gates for everyone to extinguish the species which are their mortal enemies. So we decided to go the other route. I would've informed you, but my partners considered you unreliable. Believe me, I didn't know about McAllister. Like most people, I thought your mental health was failing after all, your extreme changes in behavior a sign of permanent brain damage. I'm sorry for that."

Chris stares at the screen where silent images of more inoperative Borg pass by. 

"According to our informer, they would've assimilated hundreds of races, without mercy — you know they would have, it's how they worked," Nogura goes on. "We wouldn't have been able to negotiate with them. In our timeline, we had the leverage to be faster than them. Strike before they could."

"Someone will find out what happened," Chris says, half-heartedly. "And that will be worse for the Federation than any open change of politics."

"In twenty years, scientists will find the ruins of the Borg nation. Everything they find will point towards an attack by other Borg. They will formulate theories that the extinction had been the result of an internal conflict."

Chris nods, impressed despite his intention. "Who delivered the virus?"

"Captain Esteban himself, in a shuttle that had been tuned to the Borg engine signature. It was built on Andor, far away from Cho's eyes and control. She didn't know about it. The virus was encapsulated in the dredger torpedo."

"Did Esteban know?" 

"Not until they were in place for the shuttle launch." In the almost dark, Chris can see Nogura's face draw into a vague smile. "He wasn't pleased, but he agreed it was the best option. After all, it was his idea too."

"Shaa?"

Nogura doesn't answer, which says enough.

"So what do you want from me now?" Chris says. He's well aware that the guys with the phasers are still nearby.

"I — _we_ — want you to stay silent about this." Nogura sighs quietly. "I apologize for not realizing that another attempt to destroy your health had been made, that was never my intention. Personally, I was always sure you'd understand the situation and that this is the best possible solution to the dilemma we were in. Some others are not as sure."

"And what would happen if I decided to divulge this?"

"I couldn't guarantee your life or the lives of your partners."

Considering that Kirk and McCoy are probably still considered valuable, this would mostly mean Dael. 

Chris tries to summon anger, but he can't, with his mental protections now solidly in place and his rational mind much too understanding of Nogura's decision. Preemptive genocide — it's terrible, immoral, something that should never have been necessary — but also brilliant and yielding the result they'd all wanted, knocking out an enemy that had been a deadly threat to the Federation, much worse than Nero.

"What would you have done, in my place?" the old man asks. 

Chris stares down on his hands, half-folded on his dark pants. Tries to imagine blood on them, but for once his imagination fails. It was a war without blood, a war without real death — those living beings had been dead since the moment the Borg had assimilated them. It was mass murder but still… he can't summon the feelings of empathy or regret. The universe, life itself, had gained more freedom because of it, not less. "I would have done the same," he says at last. 

"So you swear that you'll keep this a secret?" Nogura asks. 

Chris laughs roughly. "That's all you want, my word on it? And then you'll let me walk out of here, with all that knowledge?"

"Yes."

"And you can make sure that none of _your_ mysterious partners is going to change their mind about me and kill me — or worse, Dael?"

"You give me your word as a Starfleet Admiral that you will keep this secret forever… or until you're relieved from this oath due to circumstances."

"So that's why you told me? To make sure someone knows, just in case?"

"No. I told you to protect you. Your inquiries came too close to the source; it was either confront you with the truth and give you the choice, or…" Nogura waves his hand.

…another drug, a random fail of his implant, some unfortunate accident. Chris understands, too well again. And maybe he's a little proud to be considered such a dangerous opponent. 

"I swear I'll keep quiet about everything you told me tonight. As long as you promise safety for my partners and me," he says, and it's surprisingly easy. It means his fight ends here; for him, the puzzle is solved and he can move on in peace, weird as it might sound. Nogura made the logical choice, the best one for the 'fleet and the Federation in whole. Not that he'd easily forgive the old man for cutting him off like that, the trust between them is probably ruined forever, but he can live with this solution.

He just wonders how he should explain his sudden change to the others.

"Good. The persons behind the last attack on you have been removed, they will no longer endanger you."

"Well, thanks," Chris says sardonically.

"In a few years, I'll retire," Nogura says after a brief pause. "There are — possibilities."

Chris can't believe his ears as the implied offer settles. Unable to formulate a good reply, he stays mute.

"I presume you're ready to call this a day," the old man says at last. "I'll show you out."

"Thanks." Chris gets up and leaves without looking back. 

All through the ride back he's unable to trust his easy escape, expects the driver to divert at any second, anticipates a phaser in his back when he leaves the car at last.

But here he is, in the front of the Admiralty, and he's still alive. Someone besides Nogura must think he's still valuable, Chris thinks grimly. 

From a distance, someone waves at him. When the person gets closer, he recognizes Mori.

"So — Nogura?" she asks when she's at his side.

He shrugs.

"I always knew he had something under wraps," she says quietly.

"That's why you wanted me back, to flush him out of hiding?"

She smiles crookedly. "You're one of the few he ever talked to eye to eye. I know you parted on bad terms but you're quite alike, you'd both do literally anything to meet your goals, once you've made the decision that they're inevitable."

"I'm not that manipulative and cold-blooded," Chris says stiffly.

"Okay. Just cold-blooded. Sure, you don't like to sacrifice anyone, so you'd always start with yourself," Mori says caustically. "Like all good captains."

He shakes his head. "I remember someone who flew an attack with a shuttle against a Romulan warbird."

"I never said I wasn't the same type." She leads him to a nearby café, ordering them two triple espressos.

"Esteban's a good captain too," she says.

"Yes, he is." Chris shrugs. His world is a nice flat collection of images, and he uses his protections much too often. A crutch, invisible. Both ability and disability. 

"He had his finger on the self-destruct trigger."

"He told you?"

"I saw it in his eyes, afterwards." Mori looks up from her coffee. "You had the same look, after your first time."

He shrugs again. He doesn't have any empathy left for that man. The coffee is hot but he downs it anyway, wanting to get home and curl around Dael.

What had Jim once said about Dael? 

_"She'll keep all your secrets like a treasure; listens to them and then buries them so deep down that nobody else will ever get to them."_

He guesses it's another way they’re alike. Too many secrets.

"Will you stay in Starfleet?" Mori asks as he gets up.

"I don't know right now. I really don't know." 

She nods, and lets him go.

***

"It's over," Chris says in a comm call with Jim a few hours later. "You need to stop your inquiries." It's so much easier to break the news to the captain, who'll understand that some secrets need to exist within an organization such as Starfleet, whereas the doc will undoubtedly rage and rant about this ending and how the guilty parties got off much too easy. 

"I understand," Jim says. "Got a message from Illyon, saying that you'd explain it."

"I can't go into details, but rest assured that everything that needed to be explained has been explained."

"Including the last attack on you?" 

Not really, Chris thinks, but says, "Sufficiently, yes."

They fall silent. 

"Bones will hate it," Jim says.

"I know."

"I could try to hide it from him until the ceremony is over, but -"

"No, tell him."

Jim nods. "And what are you going to do now?"

"Aside from marrying Dael? No clue."

"She wouldn't mind spending more time with you, you know," Jim says, smiling a little.

"I know. I wouldn't mind either." Chris splays his hand over the screen. "See you in four days, _Captain_. We're looking so forward to it."

"Same here, Admiral Pike," Jim says, and salutes before switching off with a wink. 

***

The doc's message comes a few hours later, a recording in which the doc looks anything but happily at the cam.

_Hey Chris,_

_I guess you can imagine what I really think about all that shit. Ranted at you for half an hour straight before I deleted my first recording._

_But it's your decision, not mine, and you've got to live with it. I know you well enough that you made the right choice for yourself, and Dael too._

_So, yeah, I hate the end of this and think it really sucks, but I'm going to live with it too._

_Love you, Chris. See you in a few days._

The recording ends, and Chris smiles. "You're a good man, Leonard," he mutters, touched, as he saves the file away, all remaining concerns lifted from his soul. "A really good man."

***

Maybe, Chris starts to think over the next days, it isn't really his decision what to do next. Maybe fate wants him to remain in that strange, free-flowing state he has been in since The Meeting, accept that while he can be the master of himself (again), he's not the master of _everything_ , never was, never would be.

"I want to go back to work for Intelligence," Dael says, folded next to him on the couch, one hand in his lap. "I thought about returning to Starfleet but it was never the place I supposed it would be for me." She hesitates for a moment. "It's important for me that you're okay with that, but I don't think your disapproval would stop me."

He considers her statement for a second, trying to gauge the old feeling of concern and potential betrayal he'd felt in the past when it came to this career path but there's only acceptance left. Nodding, he says, "Can't say I'm surprised. You definitely had more successes with them — and I'd feel stupid to complain after Intel helped save my life. So yes, it's fine by me." 

And the great side effect would be that he'd never have to deal with the question of whether he needed to divulge her past treatments to the 'fleet. Realizing this is like a gigantic weight dropping from his heart, and he leans over and kisses her deeply.

They go out to celebrate her future career at their new favorite Thai place that also offers many vegetarian Vulcan specialties, and he holds her hand all through the waiting time.

"I'm not going to run away," she teases as he's forced to let her go at last.

"Hope not," Chris says, "or I'd look quite stupid at the ceremony."

"You'll look breathtaking," Dael says. "Like always."

"Did you always think that?" He shakes his head with a smile.

"Not in the very beginning, but it wasn’t much later." She leans forward and whispers, "I had fantasies of waiting with you for the ceremony, and I'd go down on you and suck you, make you so hard and then let you walk down the aisle so that everyone could see that you're the hottest man around."

Caught by surprise, he can feel the blood rushing to his face. It _does_ sound hot, albeit a little bad for his reputation. "You've hung out with too many kinksters." 

Back home, it's no surprise when they end the day with bed sports.

***

On the afternoon of the following day, in a rare message from T'Sol, she asks him to pay her a visit as soon as possible. Without asking for details, he cancels the one appointment scheduled and goes to the Vulcan Embassy. 

"You wanted to see me?" he asks her when she awaits him behind the gate.

"Someone wants to speak with you," T'Sol says. Without further ado, she leads Chris into a room with a small table and two armchairs. A very old Vulcan woman sits in one of the chairs, her long robe in waves around her slim figure. Before he can even ask what this is about, T'Sol retreats, closing the door.

For a moment, he's just stands awkwardly — then the white-haired woman opens one hand, motioning towards the armchair opposite her.

"Thank you," Chris says and sits down, neatly keeping his back straight. Damn reflex to keep up with Vulcan posture. "So… what am I here for?"

"I am Lady T'Pelei," she says gravely.

Chris is confused. "Have we met before?"

"I was Dael's primary healer during her treatment."

"Oh." He straightens some more, eyeing her critically. He'd tried not to think too much about Dael's treatment and why her healer might have chosen such an invasive procedure to save her; from what Dael had said, he'd assumed consent, though he's not sure whether she was actually able to consent by human standards back then. 

"Dael contacted me a while ago and asked me to speak with you, should the possibility ever arise. So here I am."

The woman looks at him with the typical, cool gravity of all Vulcans except the older Spock, whose expression always seemed a bit tempered by his human side. An aspect that made talking to that man a lot easier than to this regal old healer.

"Speak with me — about what?"

"She does not want you to commit to her without knowing all you want to know about her past."

"So we're here to speak of her." Chris notes he doesn't sound very smart right now.

"We are here so that you might ask any question you have about her, and I will answer either truthfully or decide that the answer is not for you. Her only condition is that you will never speak about this meeting with her. It is confidential between you and me." 

"I agree," he says, although the condition surprises him, and then falls silent. He has no idea what to ask. There are things he'd like to know, but none of his possible questions has been fully formed yet in his head — and there's also a part of him fearing that he might ask the wrong questions, those that would give him answers he doesn't want to hear.

 _One cannot unlearn knowledge._  
  
After a long moment of silence, the woman leans a tiny bit forward, a gesture that seems more acquired and intentional than a part of her original body language.

"I must admit to curiosity," Lady T'Pelei says. "Dael has been an especially interesting and challenging person. I've come to understand you are her partner?"

It's much easier to answer questions than to ask any himself. "Her primary partner, yes. We'll have a partnership ceremony in four days."

"And you were her mentor first?"

"Yes."

"I have also learned that she paints again." 

He nods.

"Extraordinary," T'Pelei says. 

"Why?" Chris asks. 

"And may I ask, is she a sexual being? Does she like sex?" 

His eyes widen over the blunt question.

"Well," he says when the healer just waits in silence, "I'd say she has a healthy sexuality, experimental but knowing her limits, and she's able to say what she likes and doesn't like. Rather gender-fluid, but never confused about it."

"Extraordinary," Lady T'Pelei repeats.

"Would you mind elaborating?" Chris asks, feeling more and more uncomfortable. He's not too sure if they should speak about Dael like they do here, even if Dael had initiated the meeting herself. Right now, he feels more like her mentor than anything else, his protective streak rising. 

"Kash-nesh'tor is a rarely applied treatment, even less commonly applied to persons her age, as accepted Vulcan wisdom has it that young beings should be able to recover from trauma without such an invasive procedure. It was at my insistence that it was considered, when both standard and specialized interventions had repeatedly failed. It was not an easy decision, but she agreed when she saw no other solution." Lady T'Pelei folds her hands. "She wanted to have as normal a life as possible. It sounds as if she has indeed accomplished that, with your support." 

"I often feel she's supporting me more than the other way round," he says, looking away from her.

"I doubt that. In most cases, people who have undergone kash-nesh'tor are not able to live socially with others. They do not like physical interaction. They are not very creative. They do not achieve much in life."

"Doesn't sound like Dael."

"Indeed not. Her development was, as I said, extraordinary, which is why I supported her desire to join Starfleet."

"So you made the wrong entry in her medical file." Accusation slips into his words.

"I only used an older, less common expression. I saw no harm in it, considering that the regulation was based on a single case with an unproven relationship to the treatment," T'Pelei says unmoved. "Her failure was likely, independent of that, but if she had achieved her goal, I considered it likely that she would have been able to remain in her profession even if the treatment had been discovered." She meets his steely eyes. "She would not have met you otherwise."

"She would've met someone else," he says coolly. "And wouldn't have invested time in a career that she can't pursue."

"Serving on a starship and helping to protect others was what she wanted. What she needed was quite another matter. Kash-nesh'tor takes away the pain, but does not fill the emptiness. She did not paint while on Vulcan. She barely slept, had no friends, was unable to express her desires. Starfleet was her one desire. It was worth a try."

He nods, accepting her argument without necessarily agreeing with it. "How does Kash-nesh'tor work?"

"Imagine a being that has so much pain in its arm that when the sedation wears off for even a fraction, it can only cry in endless agony that keeps it from being able to heal. Kash-nesh'tor is the shield that makes it forget about having this arm in the first place."

"If that shield goes down…"

"The arm is still there, and thus the agony. If the shield weakens slowly, as it appears to be the case, she might be able to deal with the pain. If it just fell…" The woman leaves the end open.

 _Deal would be back in helpless agony._  
  
It hurts to learn, but if Chris is honest, it's not that different for himself; between his own violated inner core and the world outside, he's got nothing but the protective walls that T'Sol has erected, and sometimes those he'd learned to erect willingly by himself. If they fell…

He's not going to think about that. 

Suddenly more curious than it might be good for him, he asks, "She once spoke of her family. Of the camp afterwards. What of it was true, what was the lie?"

"She never lies. It's true to her, just as she wanted it to be."

"I understand. So — what exists only in her head?"

The woman regards him for a quiet moment, silently weighting his sincerity and integrity. "Against our recommendation, she wanted to remember her stay on Khol, all of it. And she was in the camp, but not the way she remembers."

Chris swallows hard. So there'd probably been nobody to protect her. She'd gone from one hell to another, and nothing short of cutting off those memories had kept her sane. "And Raol?"

"He wanted to remember but he could not bear it. It made him seek out the drugs. She chose survival. She wanted a future."

He nods. "So, what now? Is she recovered? If not, will she ever recover?"

"What is recovery? What is normalcy?" the old woman asks. "Is she able to function in a social, even an intimate context? Obviously. Does she feel as a human feels, as humans are supposed to feel? I will never know, and she may not know either." 

Chris takes a drawn-out breath. "She said not to inform one of our partners of what she perceives as her limited ability to experience emotions… because he tries so hard to make her happy, and she doesn't think she'll ever be able to meet his demands, but doesn't want to discourage him either."

"Maybe she cannot. Maybe she can, in the future. Her positive development supports my theory that kash-nesh'tor should preferentially be performed early in life, not late. Young people have more self-healing capacity." 

She looks squarely at him. "Your own physical and mental health has been challenged in the last years. Do you consider yourself _recovered_? Functioning within normal parameters?"

He briefly closes his eyes. "I don't know. I've lost the sense of what _normal_ would mean for me, and maybe that's good. It's useless to try and reach a state I had ten years ago. I'm not the same man anymore. I've got to accept the changes. That's one of the things T'Sol taught me — that my state can be unstable but that this doesn't have to mean I cannot feel _whole_."

Lady T'Pelei inclines her head. "You are capable of personal insight. Very good. And you can relate to her situation. That is important. She needs acceptance and stability. As do you." The healer moves a little, apparently ready to end their meeting. 

"A last question, if you will," he says quickly, as a sudden image of Dael rises from his memory, with words she had said to him not long ago.

 _Sometimes it feels as if there's something inside of me, something dark, and when it wakes up, it will be horrible. I will be horrible._  
  
"Do you think she could ever become dangerous to anyone?" The second the question is out, Chris could slap himself. After all, _he_ is the man who'd beaten up Jim in a moment of psychosis, almost losing Dael over that. "I'm sorry. It's a stupid question."

Her gaze corners him as if reevaluating his worth, and it stings. "Any living being has the potential to be dangerous to others," she states at last. "There are people who consider my methods of treatments dangerous as well. But I do not consider Dael to be inherently more dangerous than other humans, if that is your question." 

He really regrets even having asked. "I guess, yes. I'm really sorry." 

"Then I will take my leave." She gets up very slowly, almost as if she were in pain. "Remember — nothing that we said today must come to anyone's attention. Especially not Dael's. It is her deepest wish."

"I'll make sure of that," Chris agrees, getting on his feet too. "Thank you, Lady T'Pelei."

She gives him a Vulcan ta'al, a short _live long and prosper_ , and then is gone. 

He suddenly feels so cold, rubbing his hands in a useless attempt to get warm, sorely wishing T'Sol could join him for a moment so that he might speak… well, about what? Obviously about nothing Lady T'Pelei had shared with him. He's alone with this new knowledge, all its weight his to carry. 

Maybe it's for the best that when the door opens, another Vulcan that he's never met before appears, informing him that T'Sol is unavailable for the reminder of the day before leading him out of the Embassy. 

***

When Chris arrives home, Dael is sitting on the couch, and looks up from her PADD with a light smile. "Jim and Leonard called, they'll try later again." 

"Fine." 

She nods and her gaze drops down to her PADD again, obviously an interesting read.

He keeps standing in the door, unable to look away from her. He loves her so much, would do anything to make her past undone and to offer her the chances she truly deserves, but nobody can do that. They're both battered, their existences like shattered cups glued back together despite some missing pieces — they're still useful, not ready to get thrown out, but one shouldn't ask too much of them. 

It's nevertheless unfair; he'd had a lifetime of adventure before reaching that point, and she didn't — she could never become the shining, bright Starfleet officer he'd wanted her to be, would never be able to rise out of her personal ashes in the same way as Jim has done, due to her history.

"Christopher?" Her question pulls him out of his musings, her gaze curiously resting on him, and with a few strides, he stands before her and pulls her up. She gives in to him, the PADD slipping from her hand onto the couch.

"Anything wrong?" she asks as he searches her eyes, runs his fingers over her pattern, those beautiful, terrible lines that he sometimes would've liked to remove but that are so important to her, signaling her difference in more ways than he'd ever known.

Burying his hands in her hair, he pulls her a little closer. "I love you so much. So very much."

She stares at him, now a little frightened. "Are you ill? Did you receive any bad news?"

"Not at all." He cradles her. "Just wanted to tell you how happy I am with you."

"Okay…" Her eyes stray to the PADD, and he almost can hear her thinking that calling Leonard might be a good idea.

"I'm so happy to have you in my life, and I'm very, very proud that you agreed to marry me."

He kisses her, and she replies to his touch, her hands at last finding his hips.

"And you're sure you're all right?" she asks when they come up for air.

"Absolutely." He loosens his embrace, slipping his left hand into hers. "I'd like to make love to you, may I?" 

"Uh, yes?" Dael follows him, and he's glad when she caters to his current need to please her.

Chris is still amused when he captures her on the couch two hours later, in a head-to-head with the doc.

"I'm fine, doc," he says to Leonard when she pushes the PADD into his hands. "Just had someone remind me what a lucky man I am, all right?"

"Good," the doc says. Then, with a sigh, he adds, "Damn, we miss you."

"So do we," Chris says, catching Dael's hand in a comforting hold. "But hey, just two days until you'll be here."

"Damn." The doc's features become shadowed. "Didn't Jim tell you yet? I'll be running late. He'll be able to head off as planned, but I have another assignment here that I can't postpone."

"You won't make it to the ceremony?" Chris asks, shocked.

"Oh, I will. I just won't have those extra two days upfront with you," Leonard says wistfully. "But I'll be there, I swear, come rain or particle storm. And Jim's going to be with you soon, so you'll have to keep him occupied until my arrival."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Chris says. He's more than annoyed about this change of plans, but obviously his men can't help it, so he's got to live with it.

"Fine. I hope you have a great time." Leonard signs off.

"Dammit," Chris says, curling one hand into a fist.

"He'll be here in time," Dael says, caressing his neck gently. "Eric called, asking whether we'd be up to for getting together tonight, at our place. Obviously there's construction work in their house and they'd love to escape it."

"As long as John's satisfied with our limited kitchen equipment…"

"He said he'll bring some things over," Dael says. "So the plan was that I meet Eric later for a run, we'd buy anything we need and all meet together here to cook."

"Good. Gives me a few hours for some cleaning," Chris says. He'd intended that anyway, wanting to have the apartment shiny and ready for the _Enterprise_ men, and starting it now could only improve his mood. 

For an hour, Dael helps him with the task, which is kind of weird as he'd never done cleaning as team work; then she leaves and he scrubs his way along the bathrooms. 

He's quite done — in every way — and just moving the last survivor of his eternally neglected plants out onto the terrace when he stops in front of Dael's room.

Chris hasn't been in it since his return and doesn't even know why. She hadn't forbidden him to enter, but somehow, it's always been her place to retreat and he'd only needed to go there when his mental health had deteriorated under the onslaught of the radiation. But right now, the closed door is a silent challenge, teasing his curiosity and threatening his resolve that he'd never again spy on Dael, after the potential disaster when he’d searched her room for pictures of her past. 

Although Dael had noted that he'd seen the color stains she sometimes had on her fingertips, she hadn't offered an explanation. 

All right, truth to be told, he hadn't asked her either.

" _I would have shared if you had asked,_ "he faintly remembers her words from the beach night when he'd admitted to breaching her trust. Well, so he'd ask her tonight.

His plan fails, though, as he's thoroughly distracted by the chaos that descends only half an hour later, John taking over the freshly cleaned kitchen for some cooking magic, with Eric and Dael as his dutiful preparation slaves (freshly showered, in the nude, a fucking hot picture). While Chris is gently forced to sit down on the living room couch with a glass of wine and asked to relax. 

They know him so well, he thinks with a yawn and falls asleep on the spot, woken up right in time for dinner and the following, very adult evening activities.

***

There are definitely worse things than waking up in the morning to Eric's skillful mouth wrapped around his cock, Chris thinks with a lazy smile when he opens his eyes to identify who it is. The other two are nowhere to be seen, though Chris doesn't suppose they're doing the dirty somewhere else — while John takes pleasure in watching Eric and Dael together, Dael by herself is absolutely not John's type. 

Leaning back into the pillow, one hand cradling around Eric's neck without any force, Chris enjoys the sweet ride to a very satisfying orgasm. 

"Hmm, tasting good," Eric says while licking him clean, hunting down every last drop of come. 

"That credit goes all to John," Chris says amused, pulling Eric up for a deep kiss, tasting himself on the young man's tongue. Indeed, it's quite a nice taste.

"Absolutely," Eric agrees. "John definitely knows how to cook with ingredients that bring an acceptable taste to sperm." He twinkles.

"A true connoisseur." Chris yawns and stretches out his arms. "Let's look for the others." 

The living room and the kitchen are empty, but as they walk towards the terrace Chris notes the open door to Dael's room. 

"May we join in?" he asks, poking his head in. 

John sits on the bed, a piece of paper in his hands, while Dael stands in the middle of the room in front of her easel. She swivels around, trying to hide an oil painting behind her; a hard job when said painting is three times as wide as her body.

"It's supposed to be a surprise!" she says with a slight glare.

"I _am_ surprised," Chris says, and it's the absolute truth. Heeding his unspoken wish, Dael moves aside for him to have a proper look.

Contrary to her other paintings that usually showed nature scenes, this one shows two figures — Jim and the doc, captured in a scene that might have happened on the _Enterprise,_ judging from the window at the rear that shows sparkling stars. Cast in subdued, warm colors, they're displayed from the side, cut off from the hips downwards, obviously just in the process of getting dressed. Facing each other with a smile, Leonard reaches out to Jim in a gesture that might end in adjusting the dress uniform's collar, but might just as well end on Jim's bottom lip, touching the inviting smile. It's such a beautifully domestic image of the two, radiating the _Jim &Bones_ vibe that Chris is so fond of — and had been so envious of during their first getaway weekend in the past.

"It's gorgeous," Chris says roughly. "What did you want to do with it?"

"I thought this one would stay with us," Dael says. "We could hang it up in the living room."

"Yes. Perfect."

She gnaws her bottom lip, then walks to the back of the room. "I did another one too, which they should take with them — if they want to."

Turning back, she presents another work.

"I'm sure they will," Chris says quietly. This is the _Chris &Dael_ image, and while it's a bit weird to see himself on a painting, it's just as touching and domestic as the other picture. She chose a perfect scene for them, both seated in slacks on their favorite couch. Chris sits with one leg folded beneath the other, eyes looking downward to his PADD which he holds one-handed in his lap. His other hand is lifted, reaching behind Dael's neck in a tender caress. Dael's position mirrors his, seated on one folded leg with her gaze resting on her PADD, but she's got one hand on his upper thigh, slim fingers protectively splayed out. While they don't look at each other like the other couple does, they both have a sweet, subdued smile on their lips, which leaves no doubt about their total comfort in this quiet moment together.

"You're incredible," Chris murmurs.

"You like it?" she asks nervously.

"It's beautiful. I'm sure they'll love it." 

"Good." She puts it aside. "I wanted to surprise you all, but now I'm glad I showed them to you." 

"Come here," he says, and she draws into his open arms, her face a little flushed. "The paintings are lovely. You've become so good, it's great to see how your art is developing." 

"Thank you," she says quietly. 

They stay in the embrace for a moment; then Chris looks around, noticing that their friends had left the room. "Why did you show them to John?" he asks as she begins to stash away some of her painting equipment. 

"He knows a lot about art, and he'd seen some of my preparation sketches, so I thought I could ask for his relatively unbiased opinion."

"And?"

"He likes them a lot. Asked me if I'd do one for him and Eric too. I told him yes, but that it would have to be Greek porn. He liked that even better." Dael chuckles.

"Oh, I can see that," Chris agrees, amused. John, the eternal, quite vain hedonist, would take immense pleasure if Dael put the two men in a classic scene, the full glory of their well-trained, muscular male bodies draped over ottomans and flanked by erect columns. He's got no doubt the painting would end up right above John's bed too. 

"I've got another one in the works," Dael says slowly. "It was supposed to be just for you. It's not done yet, but maybe…" With a shrug, she lifts it out of a corner. 

It's the Riverside Shipyard, endlessly high scaffolding holding the first skeleton of a ship-to-be. The center of the painting with the ship's hull is already quite finished, even as the background is barely sketched out, mostly dark with what might become the first rays of sunlight around the edges. 

"The _Excelsior_ ," Chris guesses, and Dael nods. It's the first of the new class of the same name, a little slicker than the Constellation class, to which the _Enterprise_ belongs. Destined to be the future flagship, the _Excelsior_ is still barely more than three-dimensional, computer-aided design in its first stage of development.

"Before we went to the _Enterprise_ , Jim wanted the three of us to see her," Dael explains. "It's really a unique view." She shifts the half-done painting so that she can eye it too.

"Looking at this… it's impossible not to be drawn to the stars," she says wistfully, then shifts it back to him. "Wouldn't you love to fly this one?" she asks.

"Darling — I'm never going to be the captain of such a ship again," Chris states, shaking his head.

"Oh." Dael looks down on the painting, a little crestfallen. "I just thought — ah well." 

She turns, ready to put it away, but Chris captures her arm. "And I don't mind it anymore. I'm totally beyond the point of crying after the _Enterprise_ , and I really wouldn't want to swap place with Jim and return to the crazy life of an active captain. Even if my health was good and I passed the necessary medical checkups, I wouldn't want to do it anymore."

Dael nods. "Okay," she says and still moves away with a strange expression on her face, putting the painting away. He doubts she'll ever finish it now, which would be a shame — maybe she'd get over the disappointment he had to cause her in a short while. The Iowa construction site is always a beautiful sight, no matter what they build there. 

"If anyone deserves this new ship, it's Jim," he says when they leave the room, welcoming smells of breakfast inviting them to join John and Eric in the kitchen. 

She shrugs. "He thinks there's only one ship for him, and that's the _Enterprise_. It's destiny, he says."

"Crazy boy." Chris shakes his head, a little amused. "In five years, he'll do anything to get a ship like the _Excelsior_ under his command."

"Oh, let's bet," she says, brows rising defiantly but a smile lurking on her lips. Relieved to see her mood improving, he totally bets with her.

***

They collect the possible future captain of the _Excelsior_ , even though their man doesn't know it yet, in the late evening. Jim's just as frustrated about the delay of his better half as Chris is, and says while losing boots and uniform jacket, "Yeah, it sucks. But I'm sure he'll be in time. Otherwise, Illyon will hear from me." Jim falls down on the couch and yawns heartily. "Sorry, we've been damn busy lately, didn't get much sleep." 

"We could go right to bed," Chris offers. Jim looks surprisingly stressed, considering that they'd only been away briefly, and he'd like to see him wind down for the few days they'll have.

"It should've been just an extended test run, but of course HQ had to send us right into a critical situation," Jim says, confirming Chris' suspicion that even under Illyon, the _Enterprise_ is always the ship being ridden the hardest. Albeit for another reason — where Shaa had possibly disliked Jim and used him as a chess piece in the larger game, Illyon seems to actually like Jim and think highly of the abilities of his ship and crew. The result is still the same, however.

At least Illyon had fulfilled Chris' biggest wish by sending his men to Earth just for his personal partnership ceremony. Something Shaa would never have done.

Dael sits down next Jim on the couch, and he snuggles against her, his head sinking against her shoulder, one hand on her leg.

"And how did the new systems hold?" Chris can't help asking. 

"Great," Jim says. He looks up at him. "Not sure whether you’d like to hear it but they worked fine. The dredger was pulled out, though."

"Good. No matter my opinion about the arms build-up, I'm all for improving your safety." 

"That's nice," Jim says and lifts his hand to his mouth to stifle another yawn.

Dael and Chris exchange a gaze in silent agreement, and five minutes later, Jim is stripped naked and stretched out in the middle of their bed, instantly falling asleep. As it's only around 2200, the other two settle back onto the couch in the living room, having some tea.

"So, what are we going to do tomorrow?" Chris asks. 

Dael is quiet for a moment, sipping the hot liquid.

"Dael?"

Looking up from the cup, she says, "I have an idea, but I'm not sure if you'll like it."

"Oh." Chris had already wondered whether he should step back for a day — he'd love to connect with Jim again some more, as his relationship with the captain is still a little damaged from all the past events, but the youngsters absolutely deserve to enjoy more time with each other, if they want to. He loves the way Jim makes Dael smile, easing some of the weight she's so often carrying on her shoulders (and of which Chris is frequently a major part).

"You called Harms a few days ago, asking about Ashaire," Dael says.

He frowns, a little defensively. "I just wanted to ask how he is." It's been ages since he'd seen the stallion with which he'd spent a lot of time on the beach; their one attempt at driving out to Harms' farm had to be interrupted because of Chris' failing mental health back then, and he had been too busy in the city since to try another trip.

"Why don't you ask Jim whether he'd like to spend a day with you in the desert? You could leave tomorrow morning and we'd all meet on Tom's farm the next day."

"Jim and I?" Chris asks dumbfounded.

"He likes riding — and he'd love to go riding with you." Her lips curve into a smile. 

"How about you?"

"Arissa asked for my help with something, so I'll stay with her for the day, and when Leonard arrives, we can collect him and all travel together."

"Sounds like a plan," he says, needing a moment to think it through. 

Riding with Jim — that's something he'd never really considered, but he knows Jim would love being asked… and he'd love to share that special place and hobby with his lover. A warm feeling suffuses in his belly as he thinks about all the things they could do… and he'd finally, _finally_ get back into his adored desert.

But what about Dael and Jim? 

She answers his unvoiced question. "I had a week with them on the _Enterprise…_ and we'll still have two days after the ceremony."

That seals the deal. "Fine," Chris says. "I'll ask him." 

"Great." She leans over, kissing him. Slinging his arms around her, he clings to her for a second in incredible happiness. How brilliant is it to have such thoughtful partners, who make room for people and adventures he hadn't even thought of on his own. 

***

Dael needs to leave very early, when Jim is still asleep.

"He's been so wiped, I really don't want to wake him up. Tell him to call me if in doubt of our plan," Dael says as she walks out of the door with a bag slung over her shoulder. "And don't worry, I'll take everything we need for the ceremony with me."

"I'll put my bag right here near the door," Chris says. "You'll only have to pick it up."

"Fine." They kiss on the doorstep, and he listens to her steps as she descends the staircase, smiling over the energetic little jumps she makes. 

The universe is damn good to them right now.

He's on his second coffee when Jim comes out of the bedroom, all tousled hair and a shade of beard, and no clothes to hide that sexy body. Chris automatically licks his lips. 

"You've could've woken me up," his man says, annoyed, when Chris prepares a cup of coffee for him. "Where's Dael?"

"She had to leave for an appointment. We'll see her again tomorrow."

"Oh." Jim's face falls a little, making Chris wonder whether their idea was any good.

"I thought we could spend some time together." He places the cup in front of his lover. "We could visit Ashaire on the farm, go for a long ride in the desert. Would you like that?"

Jim stares at him.

"It was Dael's idea but I think it's really great," Chris adds too quickly. "She wanted to give us some space and you know how she dislikes riding ever since my accident —"

"Hold on." Jim jumps up from his seat and hugs him. "Of course I would! I'd be honored."

"The honor is all mine, Jim." Relieved, Chris answers the embrace. They're in for an awesome time.

***

Half an hour later, they carry their few bags into the garage. At the car, Chris unlocks the doors, then throws the key at Jim. "You drive."

Jim captures it, but shakes his head. "You drive."

"I haven't driven a car in ages." For quite a while, he hadn't even been cleared to drive one.

"All the more reason to start again."

Chris reluctantly considers the point. "Not in the city," he says at last. "But I'd be willing to try when we're in the countryside."

"Okay." Jim slips onto the driver's seat. "I'll hold you to that," he says with a gaze at Chris as he starts the engine.

They switch places after half an hour, in an empty parking lot. Chris takes his time getting reacquainted with the systems, going through the routine checks he'd rarely done so thoroughly. It helps that he’s owned the car for many years; it still feels like a challenge. His hands sweat a little when he starts the engine, but after a few miles, the old confidence is slowly coming back.

"Time for some music," Jim says at last, and switches on his favorite twentieth century rock channel, leaning back with a smile and stroking Chris' knee. 

***

It was the perfect idea, Chris ponders after their morning spent on horseback, as he lies on his stomach after the shower, on the comfortable bed in Harms' guest room. He's quite done, exhausted from riding and grooming the horse afterwards — but he also feels awesome. Jim is a great companion; protective but without overdoing it, and so Chris never feels under scrutiny like he regularly feels with the doc. When the two of them reach some subject they're uncomfortable with, they move on to something else without analyzing it to death. And on top of it all, Jim loves riding and spending a few hours with him out in the desert had been fabulous. 

He startles out of his thoughts as Jim plops down on the mattress next to him, a wave of fresh shower gel hitting his nose. But the expected, teasing question about his overthinking doesn't come; Jim only tenderly runs his hands up and down Chris' back in silence.

"All fine?" Chris asks, a little concerned. Jim likes to talk, and seems much too quiet right now.

"Hmm, yes. Just wondering..." Jim nuzzles his nose against Chris' neck.

Chris rolls to his side, facing Jim fully. "It's been a wonderful day with you so far," he says softly, lifting his hand to caress Jim's temple. "We should've done that a long time ago."

"We never actually had time to ride," Jim says, eyes gleaming a little as Chris seems to have answered his unspoken question the right way. "I'm glad we're finally managing to spend some time with each other. And I've got to say —" Jim rubs his fingertips over the new tattoo — "it looks damn hot on you."

"Glad you think so." Chris runs his hand down Jim's chest and along the curve of his hip. It's been a while, just the two of them together like this, and he has every intention of making this something to remember. Jim's relaxed smile broadens as his fingers find their target, half-erect and heated. Chris strokes it for a while, his lips searching Jim's and finding them, making this more of a cozy cuddle than actual sex. Only when the erection is stiff and wet from precum in his curled fist does he move downwards. 

"Let's do a sixty-nine," Jim breathes and captures his hand before he can slip away.

"Fine." Chris turns on the spot, facing Jim's groin. In a way, the angles are all wrong in this position, which is why it's not one of his favorites. But he can understand why Jim would want it; it's strangely intimate and balanced, and when he feels his lover's lips on his cock, he takes a deep breath, giving in to the sensuous touch for a moment before working his tongue on Jim's erection. 

***

"You up for an overnight trip?" Chris asks, after the sex and a nap. It would still be daylight for the next hours, they could make it to one of his favorite spots in time.

"Yes, cool idea," Jim replies without hesitation, and so they pack the things they need, saddle the horses again and ride deeper into the desert than Chris has been for a long time. They ride in comfortable silence, only talking when they reach their destination. The tent is self-inflating and set up in a minute, and they stuff their sleeping bags and traveler's mats into it before caring for the horses. After that, Jim takes lot of pleasure in getting a small campfire running, while Chris needs to rest for a moment, just watching him in relaxed silence.

When the fire is burning bright enough to meet Jim's desire, his lover gets out a pot of self-heating baked beans. "Not really traditional, but a lot faster," he says apologetically as he breaks the heating unit's seal.

"I'm fine with that. I'm damn hungry." Chris pulls out a small bottle. "We can spice them up the traditional way too."

"Bourbon." Jim grins. "But I'm not going to sing any stupid songs," he adds warningly, wiggling his forefinger.

"No intention of doing that," Chris agrees. As an attendee at many country barbecues, he knows most traditionals by heart and surprisingly enough doesn't mind singing with the right level of inebriation, but there's no need for any of that tonight. 

The beans are quite tasty, and they sit comfortably together when the night deepens, a shared blanket over their shoulders. For some reason, Jim seems curious about Chris' academy years, so Chris recalls some stories, sharing glories and failures.

"So you weren't the top student of your year?" Jim asks in surprise when the subject comes up.

"Oh, no. Fourth, I think."

"Ah — languages?"

Chris nods. "I hated Romulan, and it hated me, and as it was my first alien language, it kind of created a set point. I'm also not very good when it comes to following complicated alien protocols. Once I served a M'Hanja'ra prince a cup of noodles from left instead of right — would probably have resulted in a war in reality."

Jim laughs. 

"Thankfully, the Academy results don't say a lot about how people do in the actual field. My good scores gave me a head start in choosing a ship, so I made it to the bridge of Captain Roskylle. She was a fabulous CO, I learned a lot from her."

"A woman? Let me guess — she was manly and looked like a bodybuilder," Jim teases him.

Shaking his head, Chris smiles. "Not at all — she had long blond hair, a uniform that was a size too small over her full breasts, and used a new color on her nails every two days. But she was also extremely bright and always, always calm. Never once raised her voice. I really took a note from her book when it came to staying cool, keeping your bridge crew reigned in and calm."

He sobers. "Well, that, and what being the captain might lead to. She was killed in action two years into our mission, after exchanging herself for a team of scientists that had been held in captivity by a troop of marauders. A very sad day for the universe, and a very formative moment for me. That kind of sacrifice… well, there was a reason I took the _Kelvin_ as my dissertation subject."

"So you always — waited for it to happen?" Jim says quietly.

Chris takes a sip from the bourbon bottle. "If I believed those who claim that our thoughts form our reality, then I guess I did. But actually it's a rather common thing on the front lines; we once ran a statistics that showed that about thirty-five percent of all commanding officers had found themselves in similar situations. Thankfully, only a few ended with grave injury or death." He puts the bottle aside.

"I know that you're a kind of trouble magnet out there, Jim. It's in your nature, but you know you're doing well, don’t you? You're doing an even greater job than I'd hoped you would. Making this universe a better place to be, and not just through your missions." Before his lover could deny his words, Chris reaches over and pulls him into a long, open-mouthed kiss. Enough said — he wants something else, something closer.

Jim readily kisses back. When they break contact, it's only to move to the tent where they strip and curl around each other on the thin but comfortable mats, a small heating unit next to them keeping the temperature high enough not to spoil the fun.

"What do you want?" Chris asks, his hands groping his lover's muscular ass, their joint erections tightly wedged between their heated bodies. 

Without ado, Jim moves onto all fours. "Take me like this. Just do it."

They need only little preparation before Chris gets to his knees and pushes in. The sex is hot, like always with Jim, but something's missing, and so he stops after a while. 

"Turn around. I want to see you," he whispers and pulls out, leaning back so that Jim can move. As Jim settles on his back on the ground, Chris inhales deeply. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful Jim is, how open those blue eyes can look at him. The love and trust that's there, _again_ , despite everything that happened, takes his breath away. 

"Love you, Jim," he says softly as he leans over him, not yet pushing in. From Jim's stomach, he reverently runs his hands up to stroke his lover's face at last. 

"Chris…" Jim turns his head away. 

"And I mean it. Don't look away. I mean it." He places kisses onto the smooth chest in front of him. "I'll make sure we both don't forget in the future."

"Dammit, man," Jim says, choked up, meeting his eyes at last. "Stop doing that to me, telling me such things when we're fucking, it's just not fair."

"We're not fucking." Chris leans closer, rubbing his slightly softened erection against Jim's.

Jim tilts his hips upwards, seeking friction. "We're not?" 

"No." Chris smiles. "We're making love. I'm making love to you."

"Damn you, Chris." Jim drags both hands around Chris' neck to pull him down into a kiss. "Love you too, too damn much," he mutters. "And now: Fuck. Me. Hard."

Chris laughs, the sound resonating in the quiet night. "Yes, sir," he says, and pushes in.

***

"Hurry up, or we're going to be late," Chris says with a nervous glance at the clock. They'd needed far longer than planned to make it back to the farm (it might have something to do with their prolonged morning sex session, but he's really not sorry about that), and are now a little pressed for time to reach Tom's farm in time for the ceremony. 

"Well, they won't start without you," Jim says rationally, nevertheless accelerating a little. 

Chris checks his communicator once more, but the only message from Dael is three hours old, saying nothing but " _Collected Leonard. Now on our way._ " He's glad that Jim hadn't debated about who'd drive, just accepted that Chris doesn't feel up to it today.

"It will be awesome." Jim smiles. "What are you going to wear?"

Chris thinks about the shopping trip they'd made, John, Eric, Arissa, Chris and Dael, which had turned out to be more fun than expected. In fact, almost as much fun as the furniture trip with Dael, Jim and the doc had been way back when. They had settled for a matching look in white, grey and black, though Dael would be wearing a pair of those very brightly colored platform boots that he'd grown so fond of. 

Really, _very_ fond of. 

"Hmmm, something nice," Chris replies, not willing to give it away yet.

"Awww." Jim pretends to be disappointed. "And what about the rings?"

"We already have them, so no ring exchange." 

Jim grins. "You should work on your romance level."

"It's going to be a small ceremony. No frilly dresses and piles of roses," Chris states.

But when they arrive, he's got to concede that he'd been wrong about the flower arrangements; someone clearly has set out to make a whole lot of fancy decorations around the house, with white garlands and little lampions. The frilly dress quota is still thankfully low. The only one wearing such an outfit, surprisingly, turns out to be Arissa, who waves at them from afar, a middle-aged man in tow who Chris had lately seen as the doorkeeper at the one party he'd attended. Jim seems to know the guy quite well, cheerfully waving back at the couple. They quickly unload the necessary bags.

"That's Toby," Jim explains as they carry them in. "Arissa's resident boy-toy."

"Ah." Somehow the man seems a little old for the toy status, but that's not his problem right now. Nervously, Chris eyes the empty terrace; Dael and the doc are nowhere to be seen.

"They're already getting dressed," Nat says, joining them at the front door. "Hush, go upstairs and get ready for your big moment."

Despite still having the frequent thought that he's doing this partnership thing more for the outer world than for himself, Chris gets caught up in the festive mood, and the realization that this is a really important moment of his life suddenly settles in his chest rather heavily. He freezes at the stairway to the upper floor, looking up in strange hesitation. 

Jim pushes him from behind. "Flight is not an option, Admiral," the rascal says. "Be a man and suck it up, it'll be awesome."

Chris rolls his eyes but then moves upstairs.

"I know exactly how you feel," Jim supplies when they're on the first floor. "You propose, thinking it's no big deal — and then you have the actual event, and suddenly you realize it _is_ something big, for your partner and you and for the people around you. It's a big, fat, public commitment. That's why you do it, and even when it feels strange in the moment — trust me, it will be great afterwards." 

Chris sighs. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

Nat ushers them to a room together, claiming that the bridegroom shouldn't see the bride before the procession, and while he needs to swallow down a stupid comment about this particular tradition, he wins over his impulse and decides to go with the flow. Everyone says it will be great; so maybe he should just trust them.

His bag with his clothes is here, and Chris dresses up just fine, but his nerves get the better of him when he tries to make the knot on his bow tie. "Fucking old-fashioned shit," he swears as it crumbles under his fingers once again. 

"Hold on," Jim says, and matter-of-factly takes over, tying a perfect bow. "Had Spock do that for me on our big day. I didn't even know he could do that, but he lectured me that he'd looked up any details a groomsman might need to know, and obviously bow-tying was on top of the list."

Chris looks at the mirror. He looks… unreal, like he doesn't quite recognize himself.

"It's just stage fright," Jim says softly. 

"Am I doing the right thing?" Chris asks, not really unsure about it, but for a second in acute need of an outer confirmation.

"You're absolutely doing the right thing." 

Chris eyes his lover in the mirror. "We haven't really spoken about who's going to be whose groomsman…"

"Well, as we're here together — would you take me?" Jim asks hesitantly.

Chris turns. "I'd be honored." He pulls Jim into a kiss, both very careful with their shiny neat clothes. 

_Fuck, this is intense._  
  
When they move apart, Chris blindly searches his pockets for a handkerchief, finally taking the one Jim offers him to clear his nose. 

"Here, have these," Jim says and pushes a small pack of paper handkerchiefs into his hands. They nicely fit into the small front pockets of his formal pants.

There's a knock at the door. "Are you ready?" Nat asks as she pokes in her head.

"He's as ready as he'll ever be," Jim says instead of Chris, with almost a straight face.

"Great. Come on, everyone's waiting already." 

***

It's a small group of people who attend, but all of them are dear to him; there's Tom and his wife Cordelia and the kids, there's Nat and her husband Robert. Of their friends, there's John and Eric and Arissa and Toby. And most importantly, there are Jim and Leonard, who belong to and with them, partnership ceremony or not.

Tradition would have it that the bridegroom awaits the bride, and Chris and Dael had had quite a lengthy discussion about this because it had strongly triggered his antipathy toward outdated gender roles. In the end, they'd thrown a coin.

Turned out, Dael still ended up as the one to walk down the aisle, and standing there watching her drawing close with Leonard at her side has an incredible effect on Chris. It's this feeling of being chosen — that she's joining him here of her own free will — that makes his knees weak, and he momentarily reaches out for Jim's hand, receiving a supportive squeeze.

Then she's next to him, her boots raising her to his height, and he looks her in the eyes. Who could've known when they'd first met, that they'd end here? How strange their fate, how unlikely their connection. Despite the odds, despite their pasts, despite their ages, they've made it to this day, and hopefully to many more to come.

She looks straight back at him for a moment before whispering, "This is so _strange_!"

"Yes." It's a relief to learn he's not the only one feeling like that. 

The female county official leading the ceremony clears her throat. "Today, we come together to join in partnership…"

Ten minutes later, turns out rings are being exchanged after all, when Dael brings out a pair that nicely matches the ones Chris had bought with her. They fit perfectly on their fingers. 

A kiss. 

Applause.

And then it's thankfully over, and Chris can start to feel a little normal again.

As long as _normal_ means stupidly happy and madly in love with the world. 

***

An hour later, Chris still can't hide his silly smile that he's been wearing all afternoon when he watches Dael between Arissa and Jim, obviously teasing her with some stupid marriage stuff.

Nat draws close. "Your friends are really unique." Her eyes rake over the small group, settling on the way Eric flirts with the doc, one encouraging hand on his hip — and the doc doesn't seem to mind. 

"Are you all sleeping with each other?" she asks, amused.

"No."

"Are _you_ sleeping with all of them?"

Chris looks at his friends. "Hmmm, I didn't know Toby before today. And actually, I've heard Jim remark that he's annoyingly straight, so I guess I won't be his type."

"Uh. Too Much Information," Nat says, but giggles. 

"You asked," Chris says, and lifts his glass of alcohol-free punch. "Cheerio."

"You're so strange, Chris. But I'm happy for you," Nat says. "So damn happy." She hugs him and kisses his cheek. 

"After your foursome kissing, the children asked Cordelia if you are all together," she adds as they slowly walk back to the main group. 

"And what did she reply?" In Chris' opinion, Tom's wife had always been a little reluctant to accept his weird relationships, the ever-unclear situation with John and then the strange girl he'd shown up with.

"She said that just as two people can love each other, so can more than two. Like Vince and Angie love mom and dad and their grandma and Uncle Chris, so did all of you love each other. That love isn't a limited resource."

Chris hums. Not a perfect explanation, but good enough. 

***

They stay until around nine and then start the drive back to the city, Arissa and Toby riding with John and Eric, his tribe in his own car.

Jim and Dael take the backseat and soon cuddle together in light sleep, while the doc takes the steering wheel. 

"Arissa's quite a character," the doc says in a low voice as they chat about the day. "Between raking me over hot coals for not taking enough care of your state, and for not always having been nice to Dael — God knows I regret that a lot — she said that I do a really good job looking out for Jim and that I must be a very special man to make you fall for me head over heels. Must've been tomato red when she was done with me. And Dael only smirked!"

"Arissa is a force of nature," Chris agrees. "I've known her for years, but it's only been via Dael that we got to know each other better."

"The lone wolf not really that lonely anymore…" Leonard says softly.

Chris shrugs. "For the lone wolf of the past, it was a satisfying state. Once I learned that I could feel differently, though…" Nudging the two rings with his thumb, he smiles.

"Jim told me you have a surprise for me."

"Do I?" Chris looks up in confusion.

"He didn't want to tell me, but the way he worded it makes me think it's something I wouldn't have liked to see a few months ago."

"Oh." _The tattoo_. "Yeah, maybe." 

Reaching over to stroke his leg with one hand, Leonard says, "Love you, Chris. Bad enough to have turned into a damn egotistical idiot at times, but I've changed."

Thinking of the sweet video Jim had sent him, of the morning kiss shared between Dael and the doc, Chris definitely hopes that this change will stay for good. It's such a relief not having to use his Vulcan-built mental defense mechanisms for any relationship problems; they've been challenged enough by his quest of the last weeks. 

"I've been enough of an idiot myself." Picking up the doc's hand, Chris tenderly massages every finger before lifting it up and sucking in the tips. 

With a groan, the doc pulls away. "Not while I'm driving!"

Chris smirks. Lying back in his seat, he catches their better halves watching them with half-closed eyes. He twinkles, looking forward to the night together.

 

Despite the doc's best intentions, Chris understands the momentary repulsion that flitters across his lover's face on seeing the tattoo later. It's gone in a blink, though, and doesn't seem to stop the doc going down on him while the other two do other dirty-nice things to him. 

Possibly the strangest wedding night ever on this side of the city.

 _Thank you, universe._  
  
*** 

The next morning, Chris awakes curled around Dael, one of his favorite positions. The others seem to be gone but perking his ears, he notices faint noises coming from the kitchen. Obviously, Jim and Leonard put a lot of energy into breakfast preparations. 

Minutes later, two very unusual figures walk in through the door. Dressed up in maid's aprons and high heels — how _silly_ , and how surprisingly hot anyway, Chris thinks — they deliver a tray for Dael and him with two glasses of champagne, ham and eggs, and little black and red glass hearts generously distributed around the plates. 

"We all need some protein after last night," Leonard jokes as they kiss. 

The men bring their own tray in afterwards and all pile on the bed to enjoy the goods. When they're finished, Chris lazily curled in the head corner, there's a sudden burst of activity from the other three, trays and breakfast utensils getting removed, the bed being cleared, the costumes getting discarded. He looks up from his half-empty cup of excellent coffee (champagne is fine but really not his preferred morning beverage), and puts it away to take a properly seated position when they join him again. The doc sits down next to him, Jim opposite to him, with Dael draping herself over the captain's back and looking over his shoulder. 

"And now…" Jim says and pulls out something with a drumming noise — "our gift to you." He offers Chris an old-fashioned paper card, and the three expectantly look at him.

Surprised, he doesn't know what to say at first. "I got so much from you all already…," he barely manages, his fingers reverently holding the card. 

"Well, this is the icing, you know, so open it up," Leonard says with a strange smile. Dael and Jim nod excitedly.

Chris opens it. 

There's a shot he'd never seen before, of the doc and him. It must have been taken by Jim during one of their very first days together, because it shows Chris with one arm around Leonard and a small white plush teddy with a heart pendant around its neck in their joined hands in front of them. That silly, sappy, _adorable_ teddy his lover had bought for him and which still resides on the shelf in his office, a little forgotten maybe but still a fond memory. In the picture, they smile at each other, so plainly in love that Chris once more considers it a miracle that Jim had ever agreed to open their twosome relationship to him in the first place. If the connection between Jim and the doc had been any weaker… his mind doesn't want to go there. He managed not to fuck up anything beyond repair. It was a close call, but he didn't. Instead, he's gained so much more… 

Looking up with a tightness in his throat, he looks at three expectant faces.

"You've got to read the text," Jim helpfully supplies. 

"Text?" Right, there's something below the picture.

 _129600 seconds for you and me_ , the curved letters say, a barely readable _Leonard_ beneath it. 

He reads it aloud, without the faintest clue what it means.

"It's a gift," Dael says. 

A gift of time? The most precious thing any of them has to offer. But… how…?

"You and I, we'll have 36 hours all to ourselves — if you want," Leonard explains, and there's a tiny edge of insecurity in his gaze, as if this gift might not be appreciated. 

Chris clutches the card. His heart is quite ready to make a big leap, but this isn't just about the two of them. "What about you?" He looks at his other lovers, Jim and Dael — his newly-wed wife, if he thinks about it ( _so strange, so strange_ ).

"We'll go climbing," Dael says, her arms around Jim's shoulder tightening. "We did that shortly before your return, and had a great time." She looks happy and excited — the two signals Chris needs to allow himself the unthinkable.

"One-and-a-half days just with you, doc?"

"Yes." Leonard pulls him close for a kiss. "There are so many things I want to do with you," he adds in a murmur that gives Chris a beautiful shiver. 

"I can't even put in words what a great gift this is — so… just thanks," Chris says roughly, and is awarded with a lap full of lovers, all hugging and kissing him, half crushing him in the process. 

"Dael and I will leave ASAP and join you again tomorrow night," Jim says.

"And we can stay here, or go to a nice place where I've made a reservation," Leonard adds, directed at Chris.

After a moment of thinking, Chris replies, "I'd rather stay here, if that's okay with you."

"Sure." The doc beams. Jim and Dael get up to pack.

Finding Dael all by herself a moment later in the corridor, Chris asks her, "What would you have done if I had said no?"

"Spent the time all together," she says simply. "But I really hoped you'd like the idea." She laces her arms around his hip, gently kissing him. "I love you so much — have a wonderful time with Leonard. And don't think of me. Just do anything you want."

He's not sure what she might have in mind - after all, she'd never set a limit to his activities. But receiving her explicit wildcard still feels good. 

"Thank you, we'll see what we can do." He smiles, caressing her face. "Take care of Jim, don't let him take too many risks."

"He's good when he's with me. Doesn't have to prove himself as much." 

Chris nods; yes, he can see that. 

Their men join them, and a moment later Jim and Dael are on their way.

***

The first hour without the others is a bit strange, and so Leonard and Chris take a walk first, then decide to have an early lunch. The lingering feeling of being lost quickly dissipates over Chinese food in a thankfully empty restaurant, where they sit much too closely together, their legs touching, hands straying below the table top. In the shadows of their corner, they start kissing, and it's warm and loving with a burning ember blinking through, ready to ignite at any moment. On the way home, their hands are laced, the doc's thumb caressingly rubbing up and down in a strangely erotic gesture. 

They crowd each other in the lift, unable to keep apart. It feels so good to be together, Chris thinks as the doc pulls his shirt out of his pants, no reason to feel guilty or trapped, this is their _choice_ , fully condoned and supported. A wonderful gift that they can both enjoy to the fullest.

Being fond of the couch, they land there first, white, fake suede leather offering just enough friction that they don't slip from the seat when starting to make out.

For a while, they just keep kissing, hands all over each other. It's both cozy and hot, familiar touches combined with new brashness, now that they're on more equal footing again compared to at the beach where Leonard had been so considerate all the time… and Chris had probably needed that. Tonight, they don't feel they need to hold back, if Leonard's intense caresses are any indication. Still, there is hesitation in those long fingers as they run up Chris' neck and bury themselves into his hair, still playful but with so many possibilities below the surface. 

Chris knows what he wants — has wanted it for a long time. He thought he had lost the option and is still unsure whether Leonard is ready for it if he offered once again, his untimely recording haunting them for so long, his words eternally lingering between them. 

_You can have all of me. Just be sure what you do._  
  
Still so true, and maybe it doesn't need words. He leans his head back into the searching hold, inviting the fingers to grab a little more, take control and guide him. For a moment, head and hand engage in a quiet dance, then Chris looks up from half-closed lids, meeting Leonard's heated gaze. 

That decides it for him, and in an as fluid as possible movement, he glides from the couch onto the floor, crouching between the doc's spread legs. They've lost their shoes and socks already, their shirts unbuttoned and loosely hanging around their naked chests, but they're still in jeans, and Chris lays a reverent hand over the doc's full bulge before leaning forward and running his mouth over the fabric. The fingers in his hair settle back, cradling the back of his head for a moment before tightening their hold, forcing Chris to look up at his lover. 

"What are you up to?" Leonard says, eyes mirroring arousal and something else, harder to read. 

"You know what I want," Chris answers, his hands left and right on the doc's upper legs. "And you know you don't have to ask."

"Maybe I don't have to, but I'll ask anyway," Leonard says. He reaches out, running his thumb over Chris' bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth. Reflexively, Chris sucks it. 

When Leonard pulls away, he's breathing harder and his gaze has changed to an almost tangible hunger.

"There's a blue bag in our bedroom. In the front pocket, there's something we need. Get it." 

Chris nods and is about to get up when Leonard's strong hold forces him back onto the carpet. "Crawl."

 _Fuck_. 

The order goes straight to his groin, though he still feels his cheeks blushing over the ridiculous picture he must offer when moving to the bedroom on all fours. The collar is cool in his hands when he finds it, the lock and keys hanging in the eye. Torn between crawling back on three limbs or putting it between his teeth, he finally decides on the latter. 

It pays off, if Leonard's deep inhale at that sight is any indication. Settling on his knees between his lover's spread legs, Chris crosses his wrists behind his back and presents the collar.

"What you do to me," the doc mutters with a gleam in his eyes as he takes it from his lips. "Let me be frank — I'm still not sure whether we're ready for this. But hell if I haven't packed just about every toy I own, plus a few things I exclusively bought for you."

"Would be a shame not to make good use of them then, right?" Chris looks daringly at him, licking his lips. 

The doc runs one spread hand through his hair, from forehead to neck. "If we do this, I'll fucking _own_ you for the next thirty hours," he growls. 

"Yes."

"You'll get a safeword. And if need be, you'll use it."

"Won't need it."

"Don't be that sure about it," Leonard says warningly. "You don't know half of my nasty ideas."

Relenting, Chris says, "I don't think I'll need it, but if I have to, I'll say it. Satisfied?" 

"That sounds better, yes." 

The doc opens the collar. Leaning a little forward, he puts the two metal halves around Chris' neck. 

"Last chance to back out," he says serenely.

Chris just smiles, and a second later, the collar clicks close with a strange finality.

"Love you so much," Leonard whispers as he drags one finger over the collar's edge, then pulls at the ring in front to catch Chris' lips, ravaging his mouth with a claiming kiss. 

"Only you," Chris says, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Leonard's. "I can only do this with you."

"I know. And I love knowing that," Leonard admits in a whisper, once more running his forefinger along the collar. "So, choose your safeword."

"Never."

Leonard chuckles and gives him a light slap. "Crazy bastard. A real one."

"Sweet Home Carolina?"

"Silly, but I’ll take it. Undress, slowly. Let me see you…" 

Chris gets to his feet. There's nothing left but the jeans, and he unbuttons them. Having been sure they wouldn't stay clothed for long, he's naked underneath. He turns a little, making sure that his growing erection remains covered by the fabric as he tilts his hip to emphasize his ass. 

"Great," Leonard murmurs, one hand loosely on his own bulge. 

When Chris lowers the jeans down his front, the doc instantly reaches out, taking his hard-on with the free hand. The touch is gentle and soft.

"Not too gentle", Chris can't help himself saying, remembering the first time he'd bottomed to McCoy. 

The doc smirks. "Not too gentle," he agrees, and slaps the erection hard with a snap of his wrist. After a second of surprise, Chris chuckles. 

"Sure got less considerate over the years," he teases challengingly. 

"You don't even know what you're in for," Leonard says, eyes glittering with not so much a warning as a promise. Twisting his fingers around Chris' sack, he pulls sharply towards the floor, and after an initial resistance, the pain drives Chris onto his knees.

"Damn…" escapes him, and then the doc is already getting up and forcing his wrists together, handcuffing them with sharp metal behind his back. Not giving Chris a second to adjust, strong hands pull him by the hair, dragging him towards the bathroom without heeding his slight struggle. His breathing comes in short, tense gulps as the doc shoves him into the shower and crowds him against the wall, still on his by now hurting knees, the jeans uncomfortably pooling around his upper legs.

With a mix of foreboding and disbelieving excitement he watches the doc's hand open the flap of the jeans in front of his eyes, "I've got to pee, and your mouth is just the right place," the doc says, the head of his half-hard erection pointing at Chris' slightly open lips. 

Hell, yes, he wants this so _fucking_ much, but he just can't quite believe that the doc will really see it through…

But then the unrelenting grip in his hair that forces his head back makes it all clear, and he gives in and opens his lips, making room for the cock and what it brings, a quite tasteless fluid that runs down his throat. He tries to drink it all but it's too much, it starts running down his chin and onto his chest, wetting the jeans underneath him. He's down and spoilt and dirty and crashes into sub space harder and deeper than he's ever done before. His body starts trembling on its own account, cooling wetness and overexcited nerves making his fall only faster. When the last drip is spilled, the cock gets shoved in, and he takes it to the hilt. It grows quickly with every move, soon mouth-fucking him harshly. He's unable to do anything but keeping his jaw wide open for being used, and as if he's not already in too deep, the sensation of his tied wrists pressed against the wall, underlining his helplessness, carries him even further out of his mind. 

He's only vaguely aware when he's pulled up and turned around, the soiled jeans hobbling his ankles as his face is pressed against the cool wall. Hands clamp around his hips and maneuver his ass into position before the cock shoves into his other hole without preparation. There's vague hurt embedded into the floating state he's gone in, where there's nothing but sensation. Eyes closed, every shove nails home that he's nothing but a toy open for use. Heavy breathing fills his ears as hands hold on harder and orgasm breaks, not his own but he's gone much farther than anything so simple like physical release. 

Somehow he ends on the floor of the shower again, out of bounds and out of jeans, but the way he's cleaned under a spray of too cool water, finger dipping into his raw-ridden ass, only adds to his feeling of limitless surrender. There's a warm towel around his shoulder and next thing he knows they're on the bed. He's spread out on his stomach, partly under a blanket, the slight noises of a medical tricorder reaching his ears.

"I'm fine," he mutters with a frown, unwilling to leave his mindset for reality yet. 

"You may be, but your asshole isn't," his lover states. "And as I've got every intention to make good use of it tonight, I'm going to fix it. So lay still."

Wired to obey as he is right now, Chris shuts up and holds still, even under the irritating sensation of a medical probe being inserted into his ass. He tries to hold on to the feeling, wonders if he could make future medical checkups more agreeable if he went into a sub mindset for them. Then it's over, and the bed dips as Leonard moves, joining him for a long, intense kiss.

"You okay?" the doc asks with searching eyes.

"Fabulous," Chris replies.

"Good. Turn around."

Chris lazily rolls over, watching the doc rummage in a bag before taking a seat next to him. Taking Chris' right wrist in hand, the doc lifts a kind of cuff, apparently offering him a chance to refuse the idea, but refusal of _anything_ is currently the farthest thought in Chris' head. The cuff closes and the doc pulls the attached ring, testing the hold. The material feels good — comfortable like leather, but strong like metal — much better for long-time wear than the other, rather edgy cuffs of the shower scene that had already left marks (but they clearly should, and Chris doesn't mind). The second wrist and both ankles are secured the same, and he only raises a brow when the doc brings up much larger, belt-like version.

Nudging it around Chris' waist, the doc locks it in front. As with the other cuffs, it comes with rings, plural here, six in whole: two left and right in front and back, and one on each side. 

A very useful bondage belt. That's something new… and hot, Chris considers, when the doc, without much ado, locks his wrists to the front rings left and right. He closes his eyes, relaxing into the feeling. 

"Damn, you look hot," the doc says reverently, fondling Chris's growing erection.

Tilting his legs to the sides, Chris offers an invitation for more.

"Greedy, greedy…" the doc mutters, but lets his fingers wander down anyway, teasing Chris' dry hole. 

"To think that you're all mine until tomorrow, and that I can do anything I want with you…"

"As long as I return in one piece," Chris agrees pliantly, "I'm all yours."

Leonard chuckles. "I actually thought of adding a few pieces, not taking any away." 

Raising his head a little, Chris watches the doc put this and that onto the mattress between his spread legs.

"It's not like I’ve never had the idea of marking you a little too," Leonard says and looks pretty damn smug when Chris' jaw drops over the last item that hits the bed. 

"You're kidding," is Chris' first impulse when he eyes the collection, and his second is to cover his poor genitals with one hand, but his impulse only makes him remember that he's quite helpless, with the cuffs locking his wrists to the belt. Stretching out his fingers, he barely reaches the base of his cock; no chance to protect anything.

"One ring through your glans Prince Albert style, one ring at your perineum." With sure fingers, Leonard lifts the old-fashioned needles that look incredibly dangerous. 

Chris swallows hard. "You're crazy." Okay, so obviously no intervention of the last months has quite dealt with his needle phobia from that torture, he thinks as his sweat is breaking, and he probably should tell the doc the story. But that would mean surrendering to his fears, and he'd always hated that. He's been trained to overcome them in the past, and thank to T'Sol's help, he's able to use that approach again today.

He's not going to cringe from a little needle — right? 

"It's your right to mark me," Chris says, his vision slightly zoning out and his world flattening. "Just make sure everything's still functional afterwards."

Leonard leans forward and kisses him, before saying softly, "You can say no. I won't blame you for it. Had this fantasy for a while but that doesn't mean you've got to say yes. I'm not going to talk you into it."

"You want to mark me — you do it," Chris says more stately. It'll probably make Leonard think that he really would agree to any stupid idea, but that had never been true — he's always been good at saying stop when it really mattered, even with his academy lover back then. The trick is that he needs to feel that Leonard _truly_ wants this, then it will be fine. Even those goddamn needles will be fine, much as he wants to curl away from the sight.

"Okay," Leonard says and sits back on his knees, his hands gingerly caressing Chris' groin. "I'll set the P.A. first. You want to feel more or less?"

Chris laughs quietly, nervously. "How about nothing?"

"Not an option," the doc says, "I want you to feel it when I put my mark on you, even if it's just temporary." The doc's fingers cradle the dick that has retracted in obvious horror, not that Chris could blame it. It takes a moment of skillful manipulation before it shows up again, reluctant and twitching.

"Love your cock," Leonard mutters and runs his thumb over the exposed glans. "It's beautiful."

"Then why put a hole through it?" Chris can't help asking. He knows the piercing by sight, of course; it's usually a ring from the base of the glans and out of the urethra. Definitely nice looking and usually enhances the wearer's pleasure, but he's never considered getting any piercings for himself. 

"Because then it would be mine... mine to control, mine to stimulate." The smile on Leonard's lips is unusually predatory. "I could put a chain on it, keep you tied close to me..."

"Won't leave anyway," Chris mutters. 

Leonard leans forward once more, brushing his lips over Chris' cheek in a ghostly kiss. "As I said, you can say no. But I really, really would love to do this,"

Chris captures his lover's mouth for a real kiss, sighing as the doc takes over and sweeps him away. "Go ahead," he says afterwards. 

The doc nods, preparing a hypo. The hiss is soothing, taking some of Chris' low-level panic away, possibly not just a pain killer but also a relaxant. Finally able to tear himself away from the half appalling, half alluring picture of a very self-assured Leonard sitting between his legs in full control of the situation, confident surgeon's fingers getting everything in place for the piercing, Chris leans his head back onto the mattress. 

"Going to count to five. One, two -" the doc counts, and then the needle is already in before Chris quite gets the trick. It hurts, but a lot less than he would've expected. There's a bit of shoving and pulling, probably to get the ring in, then the whirl of a medical regenerator filling the air for a minute before all noise dies.

"And done," his incredible lover states. "Look at it." 

Lifting his head, Chris gazes downwards. There's surprisingly little blood (of which he really approves) — and a rather thick, beaded piercing ring adorning the head of his cock. 

"A neat handle," the doc says and teasingly pulls the ring with two fingers. 

The touch feeds right into Chris' strongly returning excitement, and he might have moaned a little. 

"You'll get more in a minute… just let me pierce the second one." 

The perineum is a sensitive area, and having the doc stimulate it in his preparations doesn't calm Chris' arousal. The guiche piercing is done as quickly as the P.A., healed in no time (he's glad for advanced medicine — rumors have it that piercings needed weeks to heal in the 20th century). It still makes Chris think that next time — he's got no doubt about this being only the first occasion — he wants it done more slowly, even if it hurts more… now that he's overcome the inflated fears of the past, he might actually enjoy this particular pain. 

"Oh, this is nice," the doc mutters to himself, pulling at both rings. "Going to lock you up, put a chain on your cock and keep you in front of my bed, so I can feed my morning hard-on right into your lovely mouth every morning, give it to you good…"

"Feel free," Chris offers, his breathing accelerating over the hot idea.

"Fine," the doc says and pulls out two ropes with which he ties each ankle to the corresponding upper thigh. It seems to be one of his favorite positions for his bondage victims, and Chris understands why because being forced into a situation that vulnerable and helpless does amazing things to his head. He's unsurprised when slick fingers swiftly drive into him, skillfully fucking him wide open. 

"Yes… yes… fuck, give it to me, take me…" Chris groans out as his arousal starts to feel unbearable. 

"Think you're ready for another fuck?" the doc challenges him, driving two fingers right against his prostate. It's more pain than pleasure, but as that's part of the hotness, Chris grinds against the intrusion as much as possible. 

"Want my cock in you, want me to take you so hard you're going to feel it all night?"

"Yes." 

"Want to come on my cock in your ass, just like that?"

"Oh, yes!" Chris pleads enthusiastically. The elusive anal orgasm — maybe this time, it would work again. 

Maybe he's especially sensitive now, but the doc's dick feels amazing as his lover slides in with just the right speed, not too quickly, not too slowly, still bottoming out in the end. The doc's balls gently thud against his lower ass, and one finger rubs around the guiche, stimulating the area further. 

With amazing energy, the doc pounds him into the mattress, every shove and pull shaking the bed. Chris hadn't been so soundly fucked in far too long, and there's a flitting concern that they'd be setting some new golden standards tonight, records they'd eternally chase after in the future… then he lets the thought pass and drift away, focusing back on the incredible feeling of being ridden so damn hard, with so little regard for his own pleasure. Sure, the doc's hands find his cock once in a while, rubbing its head and playing with the freshly added metal toy, but it's not enough to make him come, only to make him needier for the cock in his ass. 

At some time during the fuck, the doc gets a pair of nipple clamps with a thin chain dangling between them from the nightstand, applying them without heeding Chris' pleading gaze. 

"Take it into your mouth," the doc orders and pushes the chain against his lips. It brings a sharp pull to the nipples, and Chris groans in pain. 

"You let it loose — I'll stop fucking you," the doc threatens, and it's all the encouragement Chris needs to hold onto that chain with all his might, despite the pain he brings onto himself like this. It's delicious, nasty — what he needs. God, when did the doc turn into such a fantastic sadist?

But even the strongest man's stamina comes to an end and after a while Chris feels the rhythm stutter in a familiar way. The doc comes a moment later, climaxing with harsh ruts into his body, giving it to him good for some more beautiful seconds before sinking down over him, trying to catch his breath. 

As his lover pulls out, leaving him empty and dissatisfied, he lets the chain slip out of his mouth, now that it doesn't seem to matter anymore anyway. 

"Damn, please, don't let me hang like this," Chris begs, his leftover shame drowned in the unbelievable, heady arousal that fills his senses. He's so damn close to orgasm but he just can't get to the point of coming on the doc's dick, and it drives him crazy.

"I won't. Shhh, all fine." Leonard leans over, reaching for the clamps. 

Remembering the last, very painful scene with those, Chris blanches slightly. "Please, don't pull them off, that hurts like hell!"

"No, just taking them off." True to his words, Leonard carefully removes one after the other. As the blood floods back into the squeezed flesh, it hurts a lot anyway, and having the doc's fingers play with the tortured nipples doesn't help. Chris can't keep himself from whimpering when fingernails rhythmically rub over those pulsing, sensitive spots, left…right…left… it hurts but it feels also incredibly good, like his nubs are wired straight down to his balls. 

"You like that, don't you?" Leonard mutters. "Get off on pain, don't you?"

"Yes," Chris admits with a moan. For a few minutes longer, he's at the doc's mercy, _so close, so close and never enough_ — then his lover suddenly withdraws. Seconds later, Chris' hands are free. He stares at them in confusion.

"Rub your nipples," Leonard says hushed. "Rub them, Chris."

It's a ridiculous position, the thought hits Chris; lying on his back like a stranded bug, his legs tied and spread, his ass still leaking, his dick close to bursting on its own account — then he gives up thinking and in rapid, harsh movements rubs his nipples with his thumbs, not gentle at all. Every touch sends a thrilling rush of delicious pain down to his cock, and he just goes on and on, _fuck, yes…._

A groan from the depth of his soul starts the avalanche, and his chest coils upwards, his fingers slowing down as his dick, at last, jerks and sends out its load, every shot drawn forcefully from deep down in his balls, and his body just can't stop coming until every last drop he's got to give is wrung out of him. He sinks back, the doc's satisfied laughter barely reaching his ears as if through cotton, _fuck hell, you really did it_. His legs are suddenly free, sinking to the sides. He's too exhausted even to stretch out, a hundred needle pricks tingling along his nerves.

At last regaining some higher thinking, Chris finds himself tucked under a blanket and in the doc's embrace.

"You're okay?" Leonard asks, apparently a bit concerned about Chris' ongoing state of incommunicado.

"As okay as someone who just learned something totally new about himself after forty years of sex," Chris mutters against the crook of his lover's neck. Hands comb through his hair, and he hums satiated. 

"That was fucking hot." Leonard presses a kiss on his forehead. "Watching you rubbing yourself raw because you couldn't stop… nobody will ever be able to ride you as hard as you ride yourself, lover."

Chris chuckles, and instantly regrets it as his left nipple scratches along Leonard's hairy chest. 

Leonard smirks. "You're going to feel them for quite a while." As if to underline that, he pats Chris' breast, making him wince. 

"You're incredible," Leonard adds, pulling him into another kiss. "Just relax for now. I'll wake you up in time for the evening events."

Already dozing off, Chris mumbles, "Sounds like you've got a lot of plans."

The only answer is a soft chuckle. After a last pat on his head, the bed moves and Leonard leaves. 

"Keep the door open," Chris calls after him with his last energy. He's not quite willing to admit just how important hearing the doc in the apartment is for letting him fully relax, but he doesn't have to explain anything further. The door remains open, and with the doc's quiet movements, he drifts quickly into sleep.

***

"A dance club?" Chris asks when they step out of the cab that drove them to the nightlife corner of the city, two hours later than originally planned because he had been a lot more wiped from their horizontal workout than expected. With a light frown, he eyes the building — last time the doc had dragged him into such a location, it hadn't met his taste at all. 

"Yes, but relax — I'm sure you're going like it here." Leonard moves forward, and Chris follows with slight misgivings but obediently. The second they walk through the actual door of the club, though, hitting the crowd of aliens and humans, a flurry of colors and genders with a decidedly queer touch, Chris draws a relieved breath.

"Joe Mercury recommended it to me," Leonard half-shouts over the noise of the unusual but acceptable music. "It's one of his favorites to visit with his lovers, so I thought it couldn't be wrong for us." 

"Yeah, good taste," Chris shouts back. It's an anything goes atmosphere, including the dresscode, so they fit in perfectly - the doc in a white buttoned shirt and black pants, and himself in blue jeans, low boots and a black leather vest that leaves the belt and the wrist cuffs visible. 

Leonard pulls him into a silent corner at the very end of one of the bars, where he directs Chris' arms against his back and locks the cuffs to the belt. 

Chris takes a deep breath, moving from one leg to the other to relieve the sudden tightening of his jeans. 

"I'm usually not big into masks," the doc says and pulls out a black piece, "but I thought it might be a good idea tonight." 

Not very fond of masks either, Chris finds he doesn't mind wearing this one, the light but opaque material comfortably snuggling against his head. Five holes — two eye holes, two for the nose, one for the mouth — make him able to breathe well and see his surroundings. The mask allows for anonymity, a fact he cherishes in such an open club.

"And I got something else…" The doc rummages in his front pocket, at last taking out a thin silver chain with a handle. "Going make sure they know who you belong." 

A part of Chris' brain tilts in utter disbelief as the lock clicks close on his collar. 

_No parading around_ , he remembers his own words. __  
  
Leonard had _promised_.

How _could_ the doc, fuck hell, put him on a leash in front of other people… it's such a damn no-go…

But then his lover tugs at the leash and pulls him into a kiss, and he can't say stop, the word melting away on his tongue, but he's still struggling, inwardly flailing. 

"Dael said that for this weekend. I can do anything with you — including anything to claim my ownership. So don't bring her up to cover your ass."

The doc may be right but that doesn't make it any easier for Chris, and as his man tugs at the leash once more, he digs his heels into the ground and strains his throat muscles against its pull.

The doc turns back to him, cornering him with his gaze. "What's your problem?" 

Chris mutely shakes his head. He can't even put it into words how profoundly wrong this feels. 

"You’ve never played like this?" the doc asks, waving around. A few people look, and their eyes burn on Chris' skin.

"No," he mutters. "I've never subbed in public." 

"You want me to stop?" the doc asks.

He can't answer.

Actually, he doesn't even know the right answer.

"I'm going to make it easier for you." A blindfold descends on Chris' head, and an instant later all turns to black. It's even more shocking than the leash; he always fucking needs to see — _darkness is terrible, dangerous_ — 

"Come on," the doc says, and pulls again, and he wants to resist but he just can't. His power deflated, his control stripped from him, he makes a first shaky step. He's sure that nothing short of safewording will stop the pull, and he's already forgotten the silly phrase he'd uttered, never intending to make use of it. 

It gets easier with every step, at least the walking, if not the feelings in his chest. At one point the doc stops him to open the vest a little wider, caressing his chest in a strange pattern. The belt presses into his skin, feeling tighter than in the afternoon. 

At last, they stop. A door closes, and first the blindfold, then the whole mask is removed.

Chris blinks at the room that is empty except for them. It's decorated for medical plays, all in white with a medical bed in its middle. The cuffs and straps… they look a lot like the ones with which the doc had tied him down on the morning after Jim's and Leonard's wedding, when he'd had to visit the emergency room and finally had lost against his nemesis. 

Chris's arousal, after having diminished over the edge play, returns full-fledged.

Unlocking his wrists from the belt, the doc orders him to bend over the bed and pulls down his jeans. Straps close around his wrists when he's suitably positioned, and he wiggles against them for good measure, just to test their strength. 

He's just as powerless against them as he'd been back then. 

He also recognizes the same sound as back then, a belt being pulled out of belt loops, and smiles against the bed's mattress. 

"I didn't really even out the score back then," the doc's voice comes in. "You remember?"

How could he not? "Yes."

A hand palms his ass, circling the most prominent areas that would receive the worst hits. "How many do you still owe me?"

"Forty." 

"Exactly." The doc sounds pleased. "And I want to have you count them, loudly."

Like last time, Chris can't quite bring himself to count right away, but after the first very biting slaps, he finally gives in, a rough "One" crossing his lips on the seventh. There's a light chuckle from behind, before the next stroke follows with just a tad less force, to Chris' relief. 

It's still a very sound, straight beating he receives, and he's slightly crying out over the last ten into which the doc pours more impact again. His ass feels red-hot and swollen, a few slaps gone wrong leaving aching paths on his upper legs. 

The doc presses against him, knuckles running over his hole. "So now we're even, and I could just untie you and let you go like back then. But that's not what you wanted, was it? Tell me what you really wanted, what you want now."

"I want you to fuck me," Chris mutters.

"Say the magic word."

"No." As compared to the early evening, he's in a more contradictory mindset right now; he didn't make it easy for the doc in the past, and he wouldn't tonight.

"Okay." The touch leaves him — and then the belt returns, and it bites worse than ever as the slaps go down on him in rapid succession.

It still takes another thirty-three — Chris is silently counting — until he pleads with the doc to stop.

"Say the magic word," his torturer asks, and while it still takes a moment of internal struggle, the sentence comes out at last.

"Fuck me. Please."

"Ah, finally," the doc says cheerfully. "Damn, I love my stubborn SOB." 

The angle is perfect when the doc shoves in without any preparation but with a whole lot of lube and neatly nails him against the medical bed, which is thankfully stable enough not to wander around under the repeated shoves and pulls. Too restricted in his movements by the cuffs around his wrists and the doc's unrelenting grip, Chris can do nothing but offer his ass for best use and enjoy the ride, so that's what he does. After a few especially deep penetrations, the doc suddenly pulls away, the harsh breathing of his lover calming down. 

For a moment, Chris is just left tied up there, his cock hard and his ass leaking lube; then the doc removes the medical cuffs, forces his wrists onto his back to lock them to the belt again, and shoves him to his knees on the dusty floor.

"Open your mouth," the doc orders, and he truly wants to comply. Only, this isn't the clean kind of dick the doc usually feeds him; it's fresh from their latest activity, and there's a fraction of hesitation once the smell hits him. 

A hand descends on the back of his head, and with a swift roll of his hips, the doc buries his leaking cock into Chris' mouth as deeply as possible, overriding his tiny resistance. 

_Yes._  
  
That was exactly what he needed; with that one determined action, he's catapulted back into sub space where the only thing that counts is the will of his master, and the only thing he needs to do is to surrender. Keeping his mouth wide open, he lets the doc satisfy himself as he wishes; when the climax hits at last, he tries to swallow, but half the come lands on his face and chest, probably not by chance. 

Dazed, he licks the doc's receding member as clean as he can manage.

"You soiled my boots," the doc says after wiping the worst mess off his face and chest with paper cloths. "I think you should clean them too."

And so Chris bends over, with the open jeans pooling around his hurting knees, his hands tied behind his back, his erection hard and ignored, his asshole still uncomfortably wet and soiled, and swipes his tongue over the boots of his master, removing every drop of the precious liquid from the shiny, black material. 

When he's done, he puts a few kisses on the leather; then he leans his forehead on the ground, waiting for the next order.

"Dammit… what you do to me," he can hear the doc mutter, and then more clearly the words, "Stay as you are." The boots move away, then return from another direction. His ass gets neatly cleaned and the doc helps him to his feet, but the jeans stay as they are, now a kind of impromptu hobble around his lower legs. The hood settles around his head again, this time secured with a lock; the leash snaps onto its hook, and in that manner, he follows the doc out of the room, trying not to raise his gaze from the ground, knowing that too many people would be staring at this half-naked, well-fucked bottom in a way he'd be unable to bear.

The path to a seating corner feels terribly long, and he's relieved when he can settle at the doc's feet. Using another small chain, the doc locks the ankle cuffs to the wrist cuffs, making it impossible for him to get up, but as he doesn't want to anyway, he can manage. He gets fed a large glass of water, and a few sips of bourbon, and then makes himself as comfortable as possible in his small spot. There's conversation around him, the strange type that spans everything from assfucks and dog training to the latest sports news and home repairs. People and subjects come and go, but he doesn't quite follow, thoroughly submerged in his own head space, the light pressure of one point of the doc's boot against his newly pierced cock beautifully inspiring. 

When the doc's hand pulls the leash, he looks up. At least up to the point of interest, where the doc one-handed opens his zipper and pulls out an already hard erection in front of his eyes. For a moment, Chris' rational brain chimes in, wondering about the doc's refractory period tonight and that this can't be quite natural — then it tunes out as the clear order settles to give his master another blowjob, this time with his own repertoire. 

Using decades of training to his best advantage, he brings the doc to the edge several times before the doc takes over and finishes deep in his throat. 

"Well done," his spent lover mutters and pats his hooded head, and Chris smiles behind the mask, licking the last stains from his lips. 

Now resurfaced from the deepest point of submission, Chris feels his slightly aching knees and shifts his position. He also thinks that an orgasm would be really nice by now, and to underline his point, he starts running his cheek against the doc's leg, gazing up at his lover's face. 

"You're hungry, aren't you?" the doc asks with a smirk. 

"As long as you don't mean food, yes," Chris replies.

Somehow, Chris doesn't like to see the smirk deepening on the doc's face. He still leans over to allow him to remove the chain between wrists and ankles.

"Tell you what," the doc says. "You manage to get tied over that bench, and I'll make sure you get finished off so thoroughly that you won't have anything to complain about tonight."

"Finished off?" Chris repeats, suddenly a little nervous about what that word might encompass. 

"Nothing too bad," the doc replies, leaning forward. "I'll always take care of you, lover," he adds hushed. "Promise."

"Okay." Chris eyes the bench the doc indicated. It's about two men wide, the legs slightly spread like the ones of a pommel horse, the height optimal to bend someone over it, the top rounded and padded. There are rings on the lower wooden legs where his ankle cuffs could be locked to, and possibly more rings on the other side to chain his necklace to.

It's… definitely a challenge. Exactly what the doc intends. He presses his lips together, fighting with himself for a little longer.

"So you want me to get tied to the bench by someone else than you?" he asks to make sure.

"Yes. Go around and find someone to do that job, and I'll make it worth it." The doc smiles.

Tense, Chris eyes the people in the room. It's telling that he's relieved to note that the audience is men only right now; the challenge would be even worse otherwise. There's a group of four but they're actively engaged in action right now, which he'd rather not interrupt. Then there's a couple seated in a corner, obviously still in the throes of after-session care, which he'd also rather not ask. The best candidates, it seems, are another male couple, a very classic, broad-shouldered dominant and his nicely-built sub who stand at the sidelines watching the foursome action. They'd understand the kind of game the doc plays with him.

"Okay," he says again and gets up from the floor, glad when the doc stabilizes his shaky stance for a moment. The jeans still hobbling his steps, his arms still tied, his uncovered erection leaving nothing to guess about his arousal despite the humiliating scene, he swallows hard before making his way over to the other couple, having to cross half the playroom for that. When he's in front of them, they look at him. 

Chris clears his throat, terribly glad that most of his nerves were hidden by the mask. "Sir, may I ask you for a favor?"

The couple exchanges a gaze, before the Dom breaks into a slight smile and replies, "If you need a favor, you better ask for that on your knees, slave." 

_Fuck._  
  
Nobody _ever_ called him a slave, and it's like a punch, hitting him right in the core of his self.

Then, a moment later, he's shocked about himself that this simple word could have such an impact on him; it's only a game, after all, even if he's deep inside it right now; maybe too deep, he notices — dangerously deep.

He should turn, move away, finish the game for tonight. It would be safer. The doc would understand.

"Get on your knees," the Dom states, not harshly, just as if it's absolutely his right to demand obedience, and this is possibly the moment when decades of military service come into effect and Chris, despite it all, does just that. It's not graceful, but he's down on the floor at last, once more having shiny black boots in front of him, simultaneously asking himself whether he's absolutely crazy by now and also becoming spaced out and turned on enough to feel ready and willing to follow any orders. 

"Look at me. Your question?" the man asks.

Chris tilts his head into his neck. "My master —" the word comes out surprisingly easily, maybe because this way he can make it clear that this wasn't his own stupid idea — "wants to see me tied to the bench."

"Ah. And he made you ask for it." 

"Yes, sir. Would you please… consider tying me over that bench, sir?"

Without the hood, his humiliation would be worse; but asking for this is still one of the hardest things he's ever done in a game, and he feels his whole body flushing, all the while so hard and wanting this, he can't quite fathom it. Maybe he should get his head checked once more, nobody in his right mind should get turned on from such a scene, this degradation …

"What's in it for me?" the man asks, throwing Chris into momentary confusion. Then he settles on the obvious answer.

"You would have to discuss any reward with my master." 

"Hmm." The man looks away into the distance, probably establishing eye contact with the doc. Seconds later, the man nods. 

"Crawl to it."

Badly wishing by now he'd thought of knee protectors, Chris awkwardly moves forward until he reaches the bench. He feels the raw skin, can see some blood in the low light. 

"Get up," the Dom says and he struggles to his feet. Hands bend him over the bench without asking, and locks click in place as his ankles are chained apart as far as possible, with the jeans still in the way. His metal necklace is the last thing to be locked, to a long chain that leads to a ring in the ground on the other side.

He's helpless and in position — just as the doc wanted. The thought accelerates his breathing, firing up his emotions. He can't see a thing with his eyes now just looking at the back of the bench, the smell of its leather cover feeding his senses, but he can hear the steps and whispered words behind him, feel the motion of people drawing close.

They still let him wait for what feels like an eternity, then surprise him with whips that fall onto his still hurting ass, two hitters in a regular rhythm. The doc must've come to an agreement with the other Dom, and while the thought is interesting, it's suddenly overlaid with memories of another beating far, far in the past, which is more of a challenge than Chris needs right now. Biting his lips, he just tries to get into the flow of their pacing, noticing that they're careful and not overdoing it, but he still starts to shake, tremors running down his thighs and calves. They decrease their tempo, giving him more time to breathe between the strikes, and he leans into them now, welcoming each one, thinking about the doc, remembering the scene in which he'd given him and Jim a similar beating. When they stop, he's almost surprised. They untie him, and cushion his fall when he sags down to his knees but don't keep him standing; it makes sense when he notices the two erections in front of his eyes.

Doing the best he can, he licks and sucks them in alternation. One's the doc's, but the other man has a damn nice cock too, large and straight with strong veins that start pulsing when he gets close to orgasm. 

The doc comes first still, and he swallows it all; then he's almost sad when the other Dom moves away, letting himself get finished off by his own sub.

***

The club has a fully equipped restroom, and it's sorely needed by Chris after the intense scene. The doc and the couple are in the small front-room, guarding his shower time by chatting amicably, the water too noisy for him to understand much of it. 

Once the dirt and sweat and whatever else had stuck on him is gone, he strips off most of the wetness with his hands, then walks out to join them. They're all looking at him, but only the doc says, "Hmmm, nice view," and hands him a towel, a fresh tee and another pair of jeans. 

Chris shakes his head in admiration. "You really came prepared." 

"Strategic thinking," the doc says, knocking at his forehead.

Slowly dressing — damn, he's got a few hurting areas tonight — Chris can see the Dom looking at his lower body. Being caught, the man points at his groin. 

"I've got to say, I'm not a fan of these tattoos. How can anyone on Earth want these… it's a damn shame with the kids today."

Harshly thrown out of his sub mode, Chris levels a belligerent gaze at the man. 

"But I guess it means something special to you," the man adds quickly. 

"One of our partners has this kind of tattoo, and while it wasn't her original choice, she's learned to accept them as a part of her history," Chris says icily. "And she doesn't need anyone looking down on her for that."

The man raises his hands defensively. "Hey, I played with you anyway, didn't I? Nice piercings, by the way."

"Yeah, _thanks_ ," Chris huffs. 

"Keep it down," the doc says, with just the right level of softness to signal that while he might agree with Chris, he doesn't want this to ruin their evening.

"Guess we better get going," the man says, and after a short goodbye, the men leave the restroom.

"Did I overreact?" Chris asks when they are alone.

Leonard sighs. "A little, maybe."

"What do you think about it? Really?"

"The tattoo?" 

A little frustrated, Chris says, "No, the wedding cake — _of course_ the tattoo."

"It's definitely a statement," Leonard replies carefully. "I wouldn't want to wear it, but for you, with your history and Dael's, it absolutely makes sense. So it's both a declaration of love and a big _fuck you_ at Nero, but there's a large gap between its meaning for you and its meaning for most other people. Just as Dael gets a lot of bullshit for them, you should accept that yours will likely get you the same kind of negative reaction." 

Chris runs his palm over his clad groin. "So you don't like it?"

"I didn't say that," Leonard replies. "Still needs some getting used to it, but so I did with Dael's and today I can't really imagine her without them."

"While Jim…"

Leonard shrugs. "He found them interesting and kind of hot from the first day on, despite reminding him of Nero's men."

Chris nods. "Sorry for getting so worked up." Suddenly too exhausted to keep up his annoyance — and definitely wanting to get back to their great mood of the evening — he subtly changes his body posture. "So, may I get you anything from the bar?"

"I'm dying for a beer," the doc says, "but let's have it at home. I'm quite done too."

Their cab has an opaque, sound-proof front layer between the driver and the back seat, which has Chris' approval. This way, they're able to talk about the evening some more, if they want to. Not that he's got much to complain — only one aspect had been a real challenge. 

"Don't know what I'd have done if anyone had laid a hand on me without asking."

The doc hums. "Oh, I assumed everyone could read this." He takes out his med kit, pulling out a mirror. On Chris chest, there are the remains of letters, almost washed away.

 _No touching!_  
  
"Sneaky bastard," Chris murmurs in admiration, curling into the doc's arms. And then a question rises from the depth of his subconscious, and he sits up a little. "Say — just how many orgasms can you have in one night?" 

The doc smirks. "As many as I want to."

Chris frowns in sudden understanding. "You're taking drugs?" he asks nonplussed.

"Hey, don't look at me like that." Leonard shrugs. "I'm a doctor, I know what I can take, and I'm monitoring myself." 

When Chris' frown remains, Leonard sighs. "It's really only working on the physical level, increasing the blood flow."

"I really dislike drugs," Chris says flatly. 

"Yeah, I know, and you're right — normally I stay away from such things. But at my age, even having your sexy ass at my disposal wouldn't be enough to get it up every two hours, and if there's one big wish I have, it's to fuck you from this side to Sunday so that you won't get me out of your system in the upcoming months."

Chris rubs his eyes. "What a weird declaration of love…"

 _You've got the choice._  
  
And there's really nothing bad about a potent lover who can keep up with Chris' best fantasies so far, is there?

"Okay, given the choice between an artificially enhanced sex machine and cuddling for the rest of our time, I take the hard cock." 

Visible relief dances on the doc's face. 

"Take me home for the next ride." Chris yawns, then leans back into the comforting embrace. 

***

Chris serves the beer naked. 

"I really don't know why you're that much in love with my body," he says he goes down on his knees in front of the couch, offering the bottle to his seated, fully dressed lover. "I'm far past my best days."

The doc chuckles. "Well, one answer would be that I haven't seen you naked back then."

"True," Chris concedes; they'd started their relationship years after the _Narada_.

"The better answer is — I'm in love with you and I think you're totally hot. And I also love to have you at my full disposal, so unprotected and available." Lacing his right hand into Chris' hair, the doc pulls him close for a claiming kiss. Easing the tight hold for a moment, he takes a gulp from the beer bottle, then tilts Chris' head with force into the right position for feeding.

A last checking gaze, and then the doc presses his lips onto Chris', pursing them to let the beer flow into Chris' mouth.

Drinking every drop, Chris feels his whole body going weak in sweet surrender. 

"So sexy…" the doc murmurs and runs his thumb over Chris' wet lower lip, pushing it in. Hungrily, Chris licks and sucks it, getting turned on again. Taken by surprise by his surging arousal, he whimpers as the doc pulls it out at last.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Chris wants to complain about still not having had his own orgasm. But then the evening would be pretty much over, and there's something to be said for delayed gratification. 

"Wait a second." In a sudden rush, the doc leaves the room to return seconds later, bringing in the bedding from Chris' bed. It serves as makeshift mattress in front of the couch.

"Lay down," the doc orders, and Chris stretches out.

"Ah, that's good," he utters when he can feel his tired muscles relaxing.

"Hands behind your head, spread your legs a little… yeah, exactly like that. Now close your eyes." 

Fulfilling all wishes, Chris' world turns dark but also warm and comfortable. Clothes rustle, movements nearby make the air shift — then something runs along his chest, up his throat… it's a foot. Toes, slightly smelling of sweat and leather, run over his lips, and he opens to them, extending his tongue to lick them gently. One large toe dips into his mouth, and he sucks at it; another foot runs over his groin, teasing his half-hard member. What might be a humiliating position for some feels only comfortable and peaceful to him. He's relaxed, pliant — he's just everything the doc wants or needs, nothing more, nothing less. 

The feet run over him for a while, sometimes feathery-light and almost tickling, sometimes with some weight added, a warm and solid pressure on his body. Then the doc leaves the room once more, returning to him seconds later. 

"Stand up for a moment," his lover says, and Chris opens his eyes to a number of long, white ropes next in the doc's hands. Once he's standing, the doc puts him into an intricate bondage, a tight spider's web to fix his extended arms to the left and right of his upper body. Some months ago, the faint thought crosses Chris' mind, this would've been an impossible position, but now he's only expectantly relaxed and a little amused that the doc is into this kind of rope bondage. He'd always been too lazy for that on the active side. Being more of a pragmatic lock-and-chain kind of guy, he considers the tying-up just a task needed to get out of the way for the real fun. On the receptive side of it for once, though, Chris starts to understand the fascination of this; comfortable enough not to hurt, the ropes still put a strict limit to his movements, forming a secure cage for all of his upper body. 

Once it's done, Chris is ordered to lay on the ground again, the doc's supportive grip making the task easier. When he's outstretched on his back, his legs are just as securely tied together with ropes on two levels, one just above his knees, the other around his ankles below the cuffs. Between his now tightly wedged upper legs, his genitals peek out, put on optimal display.

"That's nice… that's how I like to see you," the doc says, crouching over him with one hand on his cock. It needs just a few strokes to harden up, as continuously aroused as Chris is tonight, the new piercing adding an interesting, additional touch. 

"So perfect… so open…"

Chris blinks. These words, he's heard them before…

But the strange moment passes as Leonard leans over him, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss, the hold on his erection tightening. 

"I'm going to sit down on you," Leonard whispers in his ear once Chris' cock is awfully hard and leaking in the doc's skilled fingers. "I'm going to take your cock and use it for my pleasure, going to push up and down your length, going to fuck myself on you the way I want to feel you, at my pace, under my control… Going to make you come in me, just the way I want it and when I want it. You can't get away, just need to take what you can get, my ass at my pacing…"

True to his word, the doc settles back and sits down on him. The slowly descending pressure brings an incredibly hot stimulation to Chris' cock, and with a needy groan he's tilting up his hips — and doesn't get far, really, not with the doc's weight on him and the ropes all around him, keeping him straight like a mummy. The doc takes his sweet time riding him, far too slow for Chris' taste — and the preferences of his almost hurting erection, whose state is bordering on overexcited after the long evening. 

"Faster… please…" Chris begs when the climax starts to feel more elusive by the minute, no matter how turned-on he feels — there's something like being outfucked and he definitely doesn't want to reach that point before he's even come.

"Hmm, I think we can improve the settings," the doc says and gets up to his knees, leaving Chris' hard-on unprotected against the onslaught of the cooler air of the room. A moment later, the doc lifts Chris' legs and pushes a lubed, hard object into his ass.

"That damn thing!" Chris gasps as the vibration of the well-known anal toy sets in, one of the doc's favorite playthings. 

"You love it," the doc says and reaches out, taking a hold of the ropes in front of Chris' chest and pulling him up into a kiss. The move drives the toy even deeper into his ass, and Chris groans into the doc's mouth as it edges over his prostate. Once released, he sinks back, only faintly noticing that the doc sits down on him again. He isn't sure where he finds the energy to shove back this time around, but between the half-arousing, half-torturous toy and his by now quite abraded, still hungry cock he manages to ride it out with the doc, putting all his desperate need into his lower body to participate in the action. 

When Chris comes at last, he doesn't actually feel it a lot anymore, it's all a blur of noises and jerks and pushes and it takes minutes before the feeling of release actually settles in his body. By then, the doc has moved up and grabbed his head and is making good use of his ready mouth, shoving in to the hilt and quickly feeding him with sharp spurts of slick spunk. It's hard to swallow, flat as he is on the ground, and he fights for air, coughing some.

"Fuck!" a concerned shout reaches his ears, and the weight on his chest hastily leaves as the doc moves to one side. "I forgot! Are you okay?"

Chris tilts his head, spitting some come out onto the blanket so that he could breathe more freely. "Yes," he says when he's finally able to, at which point the doc's already dismantling the intricate bondage, leaving him strangely naked and unsupported.

"Really?" Leonard's concerned face appears in front of his eyes, warm hands touching his shoulders. "No flashbacks or anything?"

"Not at all," Chris says. 

"Wow. Things have really changed for you, haven't they?" Leonard takes him in an embrace, cradling Chris' head against his strong shoulder.

"Yeah, somewhere between a few crashes and reboots and centuries of therapy," Chris mutters with a smile. Now, this is _outfucked_ , and right now he can't imagine moving a single finger. Extreme tiredness settles in his limbs, a wave of exhaustion running through him. 

"Let's go to bed," the doc says when Chris is already in the first throes of sleep, and he doesn't quite note anymore that the doc gathers him up in his arms and moves him to the bedroom. 

***

The next morning, Chris wakes up with the doc spooning him, fucking him slowly. So obviously, contrary to the doc's threats of chaining him to the floor, he'd had a place on the mattress, but there's definitely a chain going from his collar to one of the rings of the bed, while on his arms, there's still the pattern of the ropes. Both things are quite the turn-on. The arm around his waist tightens, though, as he tries to move, and so he stays put until his body becomes truly alive and his own painfully hard erection signals that it would like to have some fun too. 

"Later," the doc mutters once he's come deep in Chris' ass. Later turns out to be quite some time later, as first Chris is ordered to take a shower, then the doc takes his sweet time to heal all the bruises and sore skin from the scene last night, reaching his overexerted ass last.

"Time for breakfast." Leonard shuffles him to the kitchen and takes care of the coffee, while the task of preparing the table goes to Chris. Once he's dutifully set it up for two, his wrists are once more chained to the belt at his back.

"You really like to have me like this, don't you?" Chris asks with a small sigh. Not that he minds a good bondage (well, he did once, but not anymore, obviously), but the doc really turns out to be one controlling bastard.

The doc doesn't grant him an answer to his stupid question, only smirks at him while getting something out of yet another bag. It's the largest rubber plug Chris has ever seen in this household, wider and taller than any of his own… and the doc places it onto one of the chairs. The foot obviously equipped with a sucking cup, the black, cone-shaped plug stays in place, protruding alarmingly from the seat.

"Sit down," the doc says and waves at it.

Chris' eyes widen. "On this monster? Who do you think I am?" 

"I think you're the man who owns a very interesting collection of butt plugs and regularly shoves them up his ass while recording vids for his lovers."

"It's been ages since I did that," Chris says. "Doc… really… this is too much." He's not beyond pleading. 

"Don't tell me you won't even try," the doc says and crowds him a little, strong hands latching onto his upper arms and slowly maneuvering him towards the scary object. "It's self-lubricating; the more you press down, the more it'll slick you up. And if anything goes wrong, I'll fix you up."

"Yeah, sure." Chris shakes his head in absolute disbelief. That's his usually so careful doctor friend? He starts to wonder if the doc's stamina enhancer has psychological side effects.

"You know… maybe you're right." 

The doc lets him go and leaves the room.

Shocked, Chris freezes on the spot. It's not really going to end here just because of this shit, is it?

But then his lover returns with a small device in his hand, and takes a seat on a free chair, motioning him to come closer. When Chris stands between Leonard's legs, the doc takes his dick in hand and slowly inserts a thin, obviously lubed metal rod into his urethra.

It's both a weird but also an amazing feeling, not the least because it brings Chris' helplessness under the onslaught of the doc's strange kinks to the front of his mind again. Once the rod is inside, a ring at its top is locked to the P.A. piercing, keeping it in place. 

And then the vibration starts, and it almost knocks his legs out beneath him. 

Chris curls forward with a moan. It's as if something was gently rubbing up and down inside his cock, an intensely arousing feeling.

"Like it?" the doc asks.

"Fuck, yes."

"Good. Just stay here, while I go have breakfast." Annoyingly relaxed, the doc makes himself comfortable and starts cutting a fresh bun, ignoring the man trembling in arousal at his side.

 _Nothing for me?_ Chris feels like asking, but after a few minutes, he gets it… because by then he's so turned on, his cock stiff and positively burning around the vibrator, he's quite willing to try anything as long as it brings him closer to release. 

"You still want me to sit down on that thing?" he asks roughly. 

"Yes."

"Okay." Chris position his feet left and right of the chair's seat and slowly lowers his body. _Uh-oh_ , this is going to be hard on his legs, which haven't seen a lot of training lately. Unable to align his anal muscle with the plug on his first attempts, the doc gets up and helpfully assists him. Even the head is already of a substantial size, spreading Chris more open than he would've estimated. 

He still presses down slowly, and true to the doc's announcement, he can feel the plug generously exuding lube. Which is good, because without it, this fat thing wouldn't have had the least chance of getting in. 

"Damn," Chris mutters as it suddenly feels like too much, and lifts off the plug again, releasing some of the burning in all muscles. He doesn't know how far down he's made it, but he's sure he's practically miles apart from the seat.

"Come on, try harder," the doc pushes him forward. "Fuck yourself on it, ride it, I know you can."

With a sigh, Chris worries his bottom lip and angles to move down again. "Not helping that you chained me up," he mutters, his body complaining from fighting for balance.

"Oh, I can help with that," his lover cheerfully says, and steps in front of him, lacing his arms under Chris' to give him some support.

"Up and down… up and down…" the doc mutters in his ears, and between the arousal coming from the vibrator that still massages his urethra in slow, hot impulses, and his ass that finally seems to have gotten the message to relax and get on with it, Chris zones out enough to just go with the flow of _a little up, some more down_ , over and over until he feels like his whole body is torn apart, the terrible plug spearing right into his insides. Unable to keep himself up a second longer, he gives up and sinks down all the rest, whining as his ass meets the hard seat of the chair. 

The doc's cheerful voice breaks through his funk. "You made it!"

"It's too much… fuck…please, don't…" Chris whimpers, pleads, begs, wants to get up but can't anymore because the doc captures his ankle cuffs and chains them left and ride to the sides of the chairs, leaving his feet off the ground and Chris without any leverage to escape the torture.

"Please…" He's close to falling apart, quite out of his mind from the discomfort, but the doc captures his lips and kisses him, fucks his mouth with his tongue, cradles his still strong erection to bring the pleasure of the vibration back, does anything to keep his mind from focusing on the pain. 

" _Five minutes_ ," Chris hears through the noise in his head. " _Five minutes, and I'll set you free._ "

He can do that, right? Five minutes. He's not going to give up. 

"Okay," he whispers throatily.

The vibration ups a notch, and while it's not enough to make him forget everything else, the arousal sure makes the seconds ticking by more bearable. The doc mouth-feeds him half the bun, some gulps of coffee behind it for good measure, it's half-spilling over his chest, Chris can't care, he doesn't remember why he's even doing this, it hurts so much, and still it's so good now that the doc lays a hand on his erection, adding the sensation that the vibration can't deliver, a strong touch around the head of his cock, sure movements driving him towards orgasm, _yes, yes…_

The touch stops.

"The five minutes are over. I could stop and release you or bring you off now, what do you want?"

Floating in the immense pain, still wanting nothing more than his climax, Chris buries his wet face against the crook of the doc's neck, whispering, "Don't stop."

There's a breathless chuckle before the touch returns, harsh pulls instantly bringing him to the brink and then throwing him right into an abyss of mindless release, squeezing every ounce of his energy out of him, his body, his soul… 

He's crying for real when the doc helps him up from the plug, his legs barely able to hold him; he comes to on his bed, in the arms of his lover who tightly holds onto him, cradling him so hard he can't quite breathe.

"I'm sorry," Leonard whispers. "Didn't want to hurt you so much, just wanted to make it a challenge."

His throat hurting, Chris doesn't want to speak, only mutely curls into the doc's embrace. 

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."

Noticing that the doc won't stop beating himself up over the very edgy scene until Chris says something, he mutters at last, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Leonard says.

Chris sighs, moving away a little to be able to meet Leonard's gaze. "I'm the one who says what's okay or not, and I say was it was okay."

Leonard wordlessly looks at him for a while. "If _that_ was okay for you," he says slowly at last, "then I don't want to know what's _not_ okay."

Chris could tell him a story or two, but that wouldn't make Leonard feel any better, so he takes another approach.

"If you want to feel remorseful, then why don't you go and get me some water and a coffee and fix me up because my ass still feels three inches too wide," he states, slightly commanding. "But it still was okay because it was you and you're allowed this kind of shit. Also," he adds, "you may have noticed that I came, and that I agreed to your terms."

"You've also been in a shitload of pain," Leonard says quietly, "all because of my stupid idea." 

"You might remember that thing about masochistic captains," Chris says, then sighs. "I'm really very thirsty, and while I like pain in a scene, I'd really welcome your medical generator by now." He reaches up with one hand, caressing Leonard's face. "But I'm fine, I'm okay, I'm not angry or anything, and in fact I haven't zoned out like in situations when my mental health is challenged. I'm not sure what that says about me but I consider it a good sign." He leans forward, capturing the doc's slightly resistant lips and underlining his statement with a kiss.

At last, Leonard's tension diminishes under his touch, and a minute later his lover gets up to bring the demanded items. Usually not a man who needs to get pampered after a scene, this time Chris really craves the gentle attention, the soft touches on his skin. Of all the scenes he'd done as a bottom, this had been the heaviest that'd still been on some level of okay, and it definitely could've tripped over and tumbled down the unforgiving path of non-consensual — but as it hadn't, he's fine with it. 

He's still going to make sure that this monster plug won't get anywhere near his ass again, preferably by throwing it into the recycler when the doc isn't looking.

***

Having drifted into slumber during the doc's medical intervention, he wakes up with Leonard curled around him from behind. With a content hum, Chris rubs along the arm that holds him.

"How do you feel?" Leonard asks quietly.

"I feel fine," Chris replies after assessing his body's state for a moment. Having a doctor on hand for BDSM games is definitely a good idea. 

"And you're really okay?" 

"Yes. Just let me turn around." Chris wants to see him, kiss him. "You're a sadistic bastard and I love you. Not _just_ for that, but also for that."

"I'm still sorry for that scene. I'll be a little nicer next time." Leonard places one hand on his face, tracing some lines. "But I've got to admit something. Some of the things we did… they've been my favorite jerk off fantasies for ages." 

"And now reality pulls you down?" 

"No — that's the actual admission — reality is just as hot as my fantasies. It's almost creepy." Leonard tugs at the collar's front ring. "I always knew you'd go far… I mean, I'm married to a _captain_ , I know you both are kinky nutcases who don't know their limits. I had moments when I thought about pushing you beyond yours, but that isn't really my game and I'm so glad it didn't happen accidentally either. I just like to scrape along those limits and squeeze them a little, extend them if I can."

Chris chuckles. "Oh, you did." Then he turns serious. "I'm glad you didn't try breaking through my limits. It's not a good thing, easily backfires."

Of course the doc gets the implication that Chris has first-hand experience with that, and after a second of contemplative silence asks, "What happened?" 

"One of our last games back then went, well, kind of wrong. He went too far, wanted to see where I'd give. It violated the trust I had in him, and we couldn't restore it."

"You do have a penchant for assholes, you know," Leonard mutters but eases the insult with a kiss.

"Like any guy who only subs to someone who's strong enough to be my match, I'm possibly drawn to people who are tough and determined to challenge me. Never got along with plushie tops."

"I guess I should feel insulted now," his lover says a little annoyed. 

"It's just the truth," Chris says nonchalantly. "You are a brilliant bastard, just pushing the right buttons for me."

Leonard looks at him with a sudden, strange expression. "Guess I'm not as different from your Academy lover as I'd like to be, am I?"

"You're quite different from him, but you both manage to bring out similar feelings in me," Chris says without hesitation. There are more levels to this, but he'd always abstained from in-depth analysis of these two spectacular men — he'd met them at very different points in his life, so there is no use in comparing.

"Okay." With a relieved sigh, Leonard rolls them over. Chris goes with the flow, spreading his legs to invite the hard-on he can feel. 

"Cock slut." The doc licks along his chin, sucking in his skin for a bruising love bite.

"Anything wrong with that?" 

"Not at all." Leonard leans over him, all heavy body pressing down on him, hands searching his to keep them onto the mattress. 

Chris gasps as his lover slides in without preparation; there's a tiny twinge of discomfort, just enough to remind him that he's here to be of service, to be claimed and taken as his lover sees fit. 

Obviously, his mind is bent in strange ways, has been forever, but as long as it works for them here, like this… 

"Fuck, yes," he moans as the doc starts moving.

***

Chris feels strangely bare without the belt and cuffs when the doc removes them afterwards, a little lost on the couch. He's eager to see Dael and Jim, rationally knows that it's fine that it'll be over soon, that they wouldn't be able to keep up the intensity of the last hours for much longer anyway, but he can still wish the bonds could stay on to remind him of the fabulous time they had, the incredible potential for even more in the future.

"I guess we should remove the piercings now," the doc says, eyeing down between his legs with a wistful smile.

"No," Chris says. 

Leonard lifts his eyes, a question and a glitter of hope in them. "No?"

"No, I want to keep them. They're a fitting balance to the tattoo, don't you think?" _In every way_ , Chris adds in his mind. He belongs to both of them, accepts their very different claims on him. 

He's in too deep and hopes he'll never need to resurface again.

Fuck, romance really isn't good for him, Chris thinks as he draws a shaky hand over his mouth, because this is all so overwhelmingly good, all of a sudden. The images start to turn flat but he battles the shift.

"You don't even know what you do to me," the doc mutters, thankfully not looking at his face but at his genitals, caressing them. "It's… damn…"

Then the doc goes down on his knees and takes Chris' dick in, so gentle and sweet that it makes it all worse for a moment, until the sharper emotion of sexual arousal grounds him, pulling him away from the abyss of _too much_. 

_Guard your emotional limits, in all directions_ , T'Sol's words pass Chris' conscious mind and then drift away as he buries his hand in the doc's hair and guides the willing mouth to his pleasure, self-protection unnecessary as he takes control.

***

They sit side by side afterwards, refreshed and presentable but still very close, unwilling to separate yet. If the doc wanted, he could fuck him anytime and any way; it's as if Chris' body is solely tuned for sex right now, all dials up. But they won't go for another round, Leonard seems quite done and winding down next to him. The silence between them is comfortable, no need to speak about anything — on the other hand, a slight tension rises underneath as they await the arrival of their significant others.

Chris breathes regularly, aware that this is one of those moments in which he's still prone to think of worst case scenarios. Dael and Jim will be here any second, because they want to be here with them. They haven't heard from them except for two messages, the first when they arrived safely at their destination, the second two hours ago when they departed for home, so all seems to be fine.

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he only notices the incoming call when the doc has already picked it up. 

_Yes, sure, where?_

It's a rather short exchange before the doc switches off. 

"Change of plans. We're going to join them for dinner. Seems they're just about starving to death. "

"Okay." Chris isn't really happy about having their reunion in an open place, but he's quite hungry himself and in any case, it's not as if anyone asked him. Shrugging into a jacket, he follows the doc out of the room.

The restaurant, it turns out though, is anything but normal. 

"Orion style," Jim says with the fattest grin Chris has ever seen on his face, when they're shown to one of the backrooms. It's all red-lights and plushy, with low-level couches and two low tables, but mostly a gigantic number of pillows and cushions.

On some of them, Dael is reclining, out of clothes already, slim, white-skinned, and fucking sexy.

The doc laughs. "And here I thought we'd have Italian."

"Well, we could do it Italian style, if you want to," Jim says as he pulls his husband into an embrace. Nothing more is said for a moment, as the two men reconnect through long, deep kisses. Chris passes them to join Dael.

"Strip," Dael orders, pointing a finger at his chest, so he gets rid of everything before lying down next to her. 

"Sweetheart…" They cuddle close and kiss, having their own little reunion moment. She chuckles as he rubs his half-erect member against her groin. 

"Didn't you have enough sex?" she whispers but grinds against him anyway.

"Did you?" he asks back, smiling.

Shaking her head, she says, "Somehow there's never enough sex when I'm with Jim… or you."

"I know what you mean." He runs one hand down her back, enjoying the feel of her body. 

"I'd say get a room, but I believe we already have one," the doc teases them before leaning over with his sexy, naked chest prominently in front of Chris' eyes to greet Dael with a kiss. "I hope Jim behaved," he says. "He can be quite challenging." 

"Don't I know," Dael agrees with a sigh. "I'm still hurting from that one tour he wanted us to take, two bouldering grades beyond my actual one." 

"You liked it anyway, _h'levreinnye_ ", Jim calls from behind them. 

"I did. And yes, he was a good boy."

Now having joined them, Jim pouts. "How comes nobody's asking me if she's been good to me? Maybe I'm hurting from something _she_ came up with." He waves his wrists, where there's something like a very low level rope burn, clearly nothing that would ever impede James Tomcat Kirk from enjoying himself very much.

"It was your own fault, hanging from it with all your weight," Dael states. 

"Stop quarreling, kids," the doc says, and cuffs Jim's head.

Suddenly noticing that someone has joined them, the Enterprise men step aside to allowing for the exciting view of a very fine, very male, lightly clad Orion. 

Jim claps his hands. "Dael, Chris, I guess you haven't had the pleasure of a full Orion meal yet, so let me introduce you to Tanin, our companion tonight. He brings in the food, offers music and dance, and anything else if we feel like engaging him." Jim twinkles.

Chris likes it a lot that Jim had chosen a male Orion, which is probably against tradition but very much in tune with his preferences. However, tonight he doesn't really want anyone except for his three lovers, so he shakes his head. "I'm fine with food, but don't need anything beyond that."

Dael and Leonard nod in agreement.

"No problem," Jim says. "We can have that another time. So, would you please start with the first course?"

The Orion nods too, then turns in one beautiful motion and leaves, quickly returning with a tray that he puts on the round table in the middle of the room. With another quiet nod, he leaves them to themselves.

Jim kneels down next to the food. "This is something like rice balls in an edible leaf, a light starter. Now, the special thing about a classic Orion meal is the serving aspect. Traditionally, it's always the women serving, but in Federation space, the ritual changed — now, all genders may service the other, and it's customary to switch between courses." He takes one of the rice balls in his hands, closing the leaf around it and tightly pressing it into a round form.

Chris thinks of his feeding session with the doc, and looks at him. "The _serving_ party feeds?" he asks amused.

Leonard twinkles and raps his skull with his forefinger. "It's all about interpretation." He smirks. "Though I didn't feel like a servant, really."

"Bones, come here," Jim says, and Leonard moves over, sitting down next to his husband. There's a moment of presentation, followed by a ritualistic sentence, as Jim explains, then the rice is fed to the other person.

It's lovely to watch how Jim is with Leonard, especially as the feeding instantly develops into tonsil play, but at last Chris tears his eyes away and crouches to the table, taking up one of the rice portions and preparing it like Jim had done. Then he kneels down in front of Dael, offering it to her on his raised hands, repeating the Orion sentence and probably mangling it to death, but who cares. 

She eats the food from his palms, then licks them clean of invisible leftovers. It goes straight to his groin. "I think we should switch right away," she states then and gets one of the rice balls for him. When she feeds him, her fingers linger close to his lips, and he sucks them in, tonguing them. A second later, she's fingerfucking his mouth and his hands are reaching out for her chest, his thumbs circling her nipples. One of her hands slips down, and he can feel her surprise when her fingertips meet something hard — the new piercings.

"One major part," Jim suddenly states loudly, breaking the spell — "one major part of this meal is that no other contact but the feeding is allowed."

"That's nasty," the doc says and humps a pillow with a groan.

"It's all about the foreplay."

"Don't tell me you did that with Gaila," the doc says accusingly. "I know for sure that the two of you were all about quickies."

Chris's dick agrees in thinking they had enough foreplay already, but it's an interesting and hot challenge, and so they all adhere to the rule. They're still very creative with their mouths and hands but they keep them from straying to other body parts.

Four courses later, Chris feels like he's about to come any second just from Dael's fingers on his lips, teasing him by coating them with something similar to avocado cream but with an additional prickling. He retaliates with the last menu item, when he makes her work for the dessert, teasingly withdrawing his hands whenever she gets close, at last making her lick it for real out of his palm. 

"Can we go back home please, like, _now_?" Leonard groans at Jim the second dessert is over, his erection strong and beautiful. "Because if we don't, I'm going to throw you down on the floor and fuck you like a bunny, I swear!"

Dael, her hand at last on Chris' groin, a touch that melts away Chris' last reserve and leaves him with nothing but need, nods fervently. "Let's go." 

The ride home is exciting, to say the least, especially because they still manage to behave. 

Having left the lift and at last closed the door of the apartment behind them, they're out of their clothes in the wink of an eye. And for once there's no question who's doing who, the two couples diving onto the same bed but different sides.

"What do you want?" Chris asks Dael as they're curled around each other, hot and horny and with a tiny wet spot between them because his cock is leaking against her skin. Slinging one of her legs around his hip, she draws him closer, wedging his hard-on against her groin.

"Something very kinky," she says and giggles, before whispering in his ear, "missionary".

"Now, I don't know whether I have that in me," Chris says amused but rolls them over, leaning down on her. She's wide and wet, not offering a lot of friction when he slips in, but he's so damn close it won't matter.

"Don't think I'll last long, sorry," he gasps when he bottoms out. 

Dael pulls his head down, kissing him deeply. "We have all night, it's fine. Just do it, it's what I really want right now." 

That's all the permission he needs to push in, riding her hard and needy for only a few minutes, then falling apart with a long, drawn-out moan that is joined by someone not far away. He spares a gaze to his left, where the doc had just pounded Jim into one of those amazing anal orgasms, then focuses back on Dael. Leaning over her, he kisses her and gets kissed in return, her tongue ravishing his mouth. 

"Let me please you," Chris says when she lets him come up for air at last. "What do you want?" 

"Got my dick in the bag, get it for me."

He hurriedly scrambles off the bed to fulfill her wish. They're both a bit too eager and getting in each other's way when trying to fit the dildo belt onto her, though, and he finally stops trying to help when she slaps away his hand and tells him to get something to drink for them instead. 

When he returns, she’s lying on the bed with slightly bent, spread legs, nudging her enlarged, fake organ with one hand. Next to her, their men are entangled, kissing in abandon.

Dael takes a few sips from the water without letting go off her dick, then motions him to get started. He doesn't need another signal to lie down next to her, his face on the level of her groin, and nudging her to turn a bit so that he can give head a little more comfortable than on his knees. Then he delves forward, sucking this masterpiece of modern sex technology deep into his mouth. Her arousal is tangible in the way she can't really hold back from moving against him, pushing her neuro-wired dick into his mouth a little deeper than she usually does, but it's good, it's great. In fact, she could ride his mouth a lot harder, and he encouragingly palms her ass, supporting her movements. Getting the idea, she loses some more of her inhibitions, her hands taking a stronger hold on his head as she demands more of him. 

Nevertheless she takes a lot longer to reach orgasm than he supposed she would, and at one point he lets go of her erection and looks up at her in question. She catches his gaze and shakes her head, a little helpless.

"Seems I'm too excited," she mutters and sags back into the pillows, petting him. "It's so hot, I'm like stuck on a plateau and just can't jump off it." 

He rubs his fingers along the inner sides of her legs, which are wet from their joined juices. 

"Let's do it the classic way first… just to get you relaxed." He opens the belt.

"Classic?" she asks but doesn't stop him.

"Yes." He puts the belt aside and leans over her groin, drawing his tongue right over the heated nub. She winces, and his next lick passes it at one side, his tongue nudging the flesh around it, tasting his come and her. "Like this. I'll suck my spunk out of you while you bring yourself off. I want to watch your fingers. I want to watch you make love to yourself."

With a moan, she leans back, running her hand down her body. Her fingers quickly start their dance, circling in an almost hypnotic pattern in front of his eyes while he licks her clean, and it's so fucking hot to watch her, listen to the beautiful noises she makes. When she comes hard and rather quickly too, she almost throws him off, arching from the bed with a cry. Pulling a little away, he curls against her, his head on her right hip, his palm covering her hand on her sex. She's breathing harshly, her fingers not completely still. Usually, she's done after such an intense first orgasm, but this time it's somehow different, and he looks up at her, asking once more, "What can I do for you, what do you need?" He's quite aroused again himself but not really inclined to go for another active fuck. If anything, the other way round. 

Dael looks at him, her other hand drawing circles in his hair. "I'd really like to fuck you," she says much to his delight. "But I know you don't really like it."

"Didn't always fit, but I'd totally love it today," he admits, running his hand up her belly. "So if you want to, I'm all yours." 

She's back in the belt seconds later, and they change position so that he can lie down on his stomach, one pillow beneath his hips. His body offers no resistance to up to four of her fingers, and if they spent a moment, her hand would fit in too, only the bone of the thumb a little too wide to go in without work. 

But he doesn't want to take that moment. "Come on," he begs her and pushes back towards her. After a weekend of getting repeatedly both fucked and fixed up by an expert, he doesn't need no goddamn preparation. 

He shuts up when she moves forward, impaling him with her dick dialed up to max — which is impressively wide indeed. For a moment, he just enjoys the feeling, then demands more with his body language until she's pounding into him in abandon, harder than she'd ever done before. It's such a turn-on, submitting to the strength she's built in the last year, not just her body, all of her. She's in the lead, he's her plaything, and she's torturing him with slowing down and speeding up in cycles, her hand frequently nudging his erection without giving it the friction he'd needs. 

At last she climaxes again, a few last shoves into him before she curls over his back, fighting for air for a moment. It gives him a break, not that he really wants it, but he's out of breath too and oh so out of his mind, straining his ass muscles as if that would give him leverage to come without a hand on his dick.

Of course it doesn't. Dammit, that kind of orgasm has the potential to become his personal unicorn, his remaining brain thinks with an inward groan. 

Then he's suddenly up on his knees, her dick still in his ass, her fingers tight around his erection, and she jerks him off with an incredibly hot mix of surety and ease. When he comes, it's like an explosion and he's seeing stars, literally. Quite out of it, he only barely registers that she takes care of him, helping him stretch out on the bed and recover. She retreats to the bathroom for a moment, with a last kiss and a happy sigh on both their lips. 

Now that they're done, Chris finally has time to notice his lovers next to him. He holds his breath, caught by the scene that plays out in front of him. Leonard is on all fours, elbows and knees, the wrists chained together and to the edge of the bed above his head, the ankles tied apart by a spreader bar. Jim is kneeling at his left side and caning him in a way that has nothing to do with playful or easy. It's one of those focused, intense, _private_ scenes that only long-time partners could develop; one goal, one way to reach it — everything else minimized to meet that one core need.

And the need here has to be pain, because Chris knows how much such a hard caning hurts. It's the kind of blinding pain that leaves no room for anything else in one's mind, that makes any higher thoughts stop and turns a human being into one small vulnerable ball. The scene is so intense, Jim's work so focused, that Chris even considers leaving them on their own but then Jim looks at him and smiles a little, obviously wanting him — them — to be here. Chris can't think of a greater gift than being allowed to share this, and he conveys the thought to Dael when she quietly joins him, cradling her hand on his hip and pressing it tightly. She places an answering kiss on his shoulder and leans her chin on it, and he knows she's watching too. 

For what feels like a long time, there's no other sound in the room but the panting of the two men and the sound of the cane. Red marks turn into redder welts, some breaking open, a bit of blood on the skin, but the cane falls relentlessly down on the ass, harsh and brutal. There's sweat gathering on both men, shining in the light, but they never move from their positions, Jim never slows his pace — only when there's a first sob from the man below him does the cane takes a tiny break on its way back into the air. Then Jim only canes harder, if this is even possible, heavy strokes that turn the man on the bed into a shaking, quietly sobbing bundle of flesh. The sobs turn into a steady cry as the cane keeps getting driven into raw skin, and it hits and hits until with a primal scream, Leonard arches up on his palms, coming as hard and brutal as the beating, his ass clenching, his dick shooting sperm all over the bedding as Jim delivers some last strokes, riding the orgasm with him. When it's over, Leonard sinks flat down with a throaty whimper, gasping and shaking. Jim throws the cane away and sprawls out over him, covering his body as if to protect him from the world, a steady stream of " _Love you, love you, love you…_ " layering their harsh breathing. 

Chris feels this is the moment they really should leave, and he motions Dael to slip down from the bed. They walk to the bathroom together, quietly closing the door.

"Intense," she says, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

"Yes." He holds her, marveling over the scene. He hadn't known about this side of the doc, it's one of the things they'd never told him, and he understands why — but he's exhilarated and high from the thought that they've shared this with them tonight. It also explains why the doc had believed him when he'd said he was okay with the heavy pain of the plug session; his lover definitely isn't new to that concept either.

She interrupts his train of thoughts, asking "Shower?" They move into it together, taking their time to clean each other thoroughly without taking overly long. When they return, the other two are still on the bed, now wrapped in blankets. Leonard's head is cradled against Jim's shoulder, half-buried under the linen. Jim briefly opens his eyes, giving them a wink, and they understand the message, tip-toeing out of the room. 

"Let's get a coffee," Chris suggests, and Dael agrees. They retreat to the kitchen. 

***

In the end, the recovery of their men takes longer than planned, ending with them hurriedly packing their baggage to catch the midnight shuttle to the _Enterprise_ , the _Chris &Dael_ painting hidden on the bottom of the largest bag as a surprise. 

Even without excessively waving his admiral's stripes, the young lieutenant in charge of the first check-in counter instantly recognizes their notorious group and treats them as premier travelers, processing Kirk and McCoy right away and offering them a private waiting room. 

When the door closes behind them, there's a brief silence. 

Chris makes the first step, towards Jim. "Thanks so much for everything, Jim." They draw into a hug and kiss, their bodies leaning together to deepen the contact, the younger man's solid back muscles warm and strong under Chris' palms. He would love to say a lot of things but the words get stuck in his throat, so he just puts it all into the kiss, hoping that Jim will understand. 

Judging from Jim's broad smile when they part, his lover does.

Chris turns towards the doc, and can't help it pulling the man a little aside for his next words.

"You gave me an incredible weekend," he says quietly. "One of the best ever. And surely the kinkiest I ever had."

"The kinkiest?" Leonard asks, clearly pleased by this statement that would hopefully settle all fear of comparison for the future. And the best about it — it's absolutely true.

"Yes." Chris smiles. "By the way, I probably should've told you that I had a needle phobia."

Leonard raises his brows. "Before T'Sol?"

"Actually, before your piercings. It took all of me not to run."

"Damn. Really? You hid that very well."

"I wanted them," Chris says, running his left hand around the doc's neck to pull him closer. Their lips are almost touching as he whispers, "Nobody ever marked me like you and Dael, and I love it." Tightening his grip just a fraction, he adds, "Though I think I'm quite ready for leaving some marks of my own on you, next time we meet."

The doc's breath hitches traitorously, his voice a little shaky as he replies, "Role reversal? Wouldn't mind that at all."

"Hope not. I've got quite a few things in mind that might be to your liking." Slipping his other hand between their groins, he lightly scratches over the doc's growing bulge. After stroking it for a moment, he gives it a last pat and releases his lover with a grin. 

"Next time." 

"Damn tease," Leonard mutters and grabs him, pulling him into a kiss that has every bit of the intensity and heat of their incredible weekend. Helpless against the onslaught, Chris feels his knees going weak as the doc's agile tongue shoves deep into his mouth, winning their momentary battle for dominance by a landslide. They might well switch roles next time they meet, but there's no denying that his lover can turn him into a submissive heap of mush any time.

When the doc sets him free, he can feel his warm cheeks and the blood pulsing between his legs. 

"Take care of yourself, Chris. And I mean it! Dael promised to keep me informed, so be aware that I'll send an army of doctors after you if need be," the doc half-jokes, breaking Chris' over-emotional mood. Which is really for the best considering that they'd have to part for who knows how many months in a minute. 

"I will, doc. I've made a promise to you all, and I intend to keep it."

The doc's eyes drift to the right, over Chris' shoulder. "She's an awesome girl. Keep her happy. She deserves it."

"I will," Chris says. "And you keep Jim happy, and we'll all be good." 

"Yes, we will."

They hug, and Chris can't help himself and pats the doc's probably still hurting ass. Jim has claimed his husband back for good, no doubt about it, just as Dael has claimed Chris. It's funny to think that it's ever really been a question who they would be with. It's perfect the way it is — everything else is for vacations and get-away weekends for the next several years, and it's no longer a fact to brood over. 

At last they open their little twosome bubble for Jim and Dael who unlace from their own embrace.

"Good to go?" Chris asks, enjoying the feel of Dael's hand which she slips into his. 

"Never, but I guess we have to," Jim says, leaning closer to Leonard.

"Always remember that we love you so much," Dael says, strangely serenely. "No matter how far apart we are."

"What she says," Chris adds, throat tight. "No matter where you are — we'll look up into the night sky, waiting for you."

The Enterprise men nod, the doc running a loose hand over one cheek. 

"Dammit, the two of you always say the best things in the worst moments," Jim murmurs. "Wish I —"

He stops as the signal for imminent boarding chimes in, and sighs.

"We need to leave. Love you too. Take care." A last hug between them all, a last waving of hands, and they're gone.

****

The next four weeks pass quickly. Of course they miss their men, but it doesn't feel like the open wound of the past to Chris; now it's eased by Dael in his life, by the secure ground they've found at last. 

Often, when Chris lies in bed with a PADD to read, one of his hands slips down to nudge his genitals and check the state of his piercings, his mind wandering back to the fabulous weekend with Leonard. 

And then Dael joins him and he puts the PADD aside, cuddling with her and enjoying the kisses she likes to place on his tattoo before she runs her fingers down to the piercings to check on them. The touch isn't as possessive as he likes to make it in his head, instead accepting and appreciative — she likes them a lot, thinks he's hot with them. 

He _feels_ hot with them too, and they turn out to be a great addition to their sex life which is still going strong, their drives never really having calmed down since their men's departure.

It makes the two couples share an unusually high number of recordings, everyone bolder in whatever role they inhabit in any given scene, top or bottom or anything in between.

"You know," Leonard drawls in a private message to Chris, half a bottle of Bourbon on the table signaling that he's not completely sober, "all the shit we went through — it was worth it. Maybe it was even necessary, in the great scheme of things."

Chris doesn't go as far as to agree, but considering that he can't undo anything anyway, he's just relieved that they made it through the challenges in one piece. He looks at the _Jim &Bones_ picture that they'd hung in their bedroom, knowing the _Chris &Dael_ painting was similarly cherished onboard the Enterprise. In a way, he thinks with a soft sigh, it really feels as if they're never parted.

He's truly turned into the awful sap the doc sometimes accuses him of being, but he can't bring himself to care.

***

Dael has gone back to half-time work for Intel, an arrangement which means she's out of the house two days a week, a third day working in the home office. She receives her own, brand-new high tech console for that, which resides next to his. Sometimes, they work side by side. 

Not that Chris is doing any truly useful work anymore. Mori tried to get him work with the scientists from his former Borg team again, but he had declined. He just wouldn't be able to fake interest anymore, now that he knows that they're an extinct species. He's sure that over the next years, all Borg research activities will be canceled for one reason or the other, in a way that doesn't raise any questions. So to have something to do for the few work hours each week, without becoming emotionally involved with his position again, he's turned into the go-to person for boring, truly paper-pushing tasks for his overworked colleagues. It leaves him a lot of time to think about the future.

By now, he finds he might actually like the idea of retirement more than he'd ever have believed, if it means spending more time with Dael. She'd even signaled him that _maybe_ she'd go riding with him, which would be the icing on his already tasty cake. 

But even his most tentative plans, he learns one afternoon, are still prone to changes. Dael comes home earlier than expected, her arrival unusually noisy. Reclined on the couch, Chris looks at her expectantly when she walks into the living room seconds later. 

"I'm pregnant," she says breathlessly and without the least word of introduction. 

His PADD slips out of his grip. Chris gapes at her, not able to parse that right away. Then he blinks. "Pregnant?" he repeats, trying his damnedest to sound just surprised, not — stricken and weirded-out. "Who's the father? Jim?"

"Yes. It must have happened during the climbing trip." She rushes over to him, getting down on her knees in front of him to gather his hands with a nervous smile. 

"My menstrual cycle had been very irregular, so I didn't take precautions. I didn't plan for it to happen... but it did." She says it as if she can't quite believe the news herself yet. 

"I see," Chris says, trying to sound less dumbfounded than he feels. She might not have planned it, but she didn't exactly prevent it either. He'd known she wanted children but he'd never thought that it would happen so fast.

 _Wow._  
  
"Does Jim know?"

She shakes her head. "Not yet." Her grip on his hands tightens. "Are you OK with it?" she asks, sudden unease and concern shadowing her features.

"It's surprising news," he says slowly, and can feel her tensing and bracing for a strike. "But I already said I'd support you if you want children, and I stick to that." He smiles. "Guess we should look a little harder for that farm, right?" 

This probably makes the question of him returning to Starfleet obsolete — he'd better get accustomed to being… a father.

His mind boggles.

Dael is still tense, so Chris pulls her up into his lap and places a kiss on her patterned forehead, then on her lips before saying, "I can't quite believe this is really happening, but I'll be here for you. That's what I said, that's what I swore to in the face of witnesses, and that's what I intend to do. I love you."

With a soft sigh, she sags into his embrace, his words finally alleviating her fears. "I love you too. I'm happy about it, although it was quite a surprise. I want you to be happy too."

"I am," he says, maybe a little lying around the edges but that's good enough for now. He draws his arm around her hip, his palm coming to rest on her belly, and some illogical part of him expects the child to kick, though it would be much too small for that yet. 

Telling Jim and the doc… now that will be interesting.


End file.
